Necessary Action
by Ms.GrahamCracker
Summary: What if Amita was the only thing between a seriously injured Don and a ruthless escaped convict?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Since I don't own Numb3rs or any of the characters associated with it, this little story will not make me rich and famous.**

**Warnings; For violence and strong language**

**Spoilers; For all seasons; specifically early first season – "Pilot" and "Sabotage", and later, "Man Hunt". Also, mid- fourth season – "Primacy".**

**A/N: #1 - I continue to be fascinated with the dynamics between Don and Amita, especially early in the first season. There was some serious flirting going on in the "Pilot" and "Sabotage" and I got the feeling that she was as interested in Don, at that time, as he was in her. **

**That said, please check the category before you read this; this is NOT a Don/Amita romance story! This is simply how I think their relationship with each other might have developed over the last four years. This has been bubbling inside my head since "Primacy" and Amita's first plunge into the dangers of FBI work. With no other canon to base it on, this is how I feel she might react in the deadly situation she and Don find themselves in here.**

**A/N #2 - It's been nearly a year since I tried a multi-chaptered story. I've recovered from the experience enough that I thought I would give it another try. There are nine chapters in all. This story is different from anything I have ever done and I sincerely hope you enjoy it.**

**Summary; What if Amita was the only thing between a seriously injured Don and a ruthless escaped convict?**

**Necessary Action**

**chapter one**

The man watched them, silently, as he had most of the day from the dense cover of the pine trees. This area of the Sierra Nevada's was thick with the large Ponderosa pines and he had easily remained hidden in their depths, unseen, as he observed the man and woman. He watched them now, a sardonic grin spreading beneath his beard, as the woman fluffed a colorful blanket onto the ground and they settled down on it, placing a large basket between them. _A picnic!_ He almost laughed out loud. Two lovers, sharing an intimate picnic by the lake. How perfect!

He scratched his cheek through the week's worth of dark, coarse facial hair. There hadn't been many opportunities since he escaped from prison 6 days ago for personal hygiene and he was starting to resemble the mountain men who roamed these peaks 200 years ago.

It had taken him three days of traveling on back roads to meet Joey, just south of Redding. Once a member of the same motorcycle gang, he had given him a change of clothes, some pocket money and a ride on the back of his Harley as far as Sacramento.

He knew the authorities would figure he'd make a quick run south to Tijuana, but he had another friend in Phoenix who told him he'd take him across the border through Nogales for a price. He headed east out of Sacramento, staying to the back roads. It hadn't been easy, but, so far he had managed to stay out of sight. He had tried to sneak into a small town two days back for supplies, but a large Rottweiler announced his arrival and he barely made it back to the safety of the trees before being spotted.

It had been a welcomed surprise when he had stumbled into the clearing this morning and discovered the cabin nestled among the trees. The nights were already cold here and even though he knew he would not be able to make a fire in the fireplace, he still savored the thought of a real bed with warm blankets.

At first, he had stayed within the tree line and watched the small wooden and log structure for a while, thinking someone might be out hunting or fishing or just into town for supplies. When he had seen no activity for an hour, he had crept up silently**. **He tried the door; it was locked, but after a short search in the area around the front of the cabin, he had found the key hidden beneath a large rock. He smiled at how foolishly predictable some people can be. He stepped inside, careful not to touch anything. There had been no sign of anyone around, but he had an uncomfortable feeling about it. Pocketing the key he had returned to the woods and settled down again to watch and wait. He had learned patience in prison and had no trouble sitting still for another two hours before he was rewarded with the sight of a black Suburban being driven slowly up the dirt road. It stopped in front of the cabin.

Three men and a woman got out, all of them arching their backs, as if they had been in the vehicle for a long time. The muscular, light haired passenger stretched his arms out, as well, and the man noticed the Glock, tucked behind him in the waistband of his jeans. He smiled. Cops, or maybe feds. He had thought briefly about killing them all – right then – and taking the vehicle. He had the element of surprise and the dead prison guards gun. He could do it. After a day of rest he could take the SUV and drive to Phoenix. The Suburban screamed "official", however, and he knew it would be hard to remain invisible in it. In the end, when the blond man got back into the vehicle with the black man, he let them leave – let them drive away, leaving the dark haired man and woman behind.

Invisible. He was good at it. He hadn't made a sound or moved an inch – still – he had seen the dark haired man pause twice through the day, looking around, scanning their surroundings with an experienced eye that said he knew someone was watching them.

He would have to be more careful.

He was city born and raised, but he could tell they were getting the cabin ready for winter. He watched the man working outside, his movements sure and precise, his muscles rippling as he tied a large tarp around the stack of wood behind the structure.

He knew the man would be a threat and he would have to kill him first. He had noticed the gun on his hip, but a blow to the back of his head would take care of him; just like the guard at the prison. He regretted ditching the metal rod he had used on the guard, but a heavy piece of wood would split the skull open just as well. Then, he would take the woman. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a woman. The pretty boys in prison were . . . available, but he knew looking at her she would be soft and round in all the right places. The thought of taking her while the man lay dead or dying beside her made him wet his lips in anticipation.

Afterwards, it would be easy to dispose of the bodies in a shallow grave in the dense woods behind the cabin. Better yet – and a lot less work – he could drop their bodies into the fast moving river that lay east of the cabin. The swift current would carry them away and when they hit the rapids downstream, their bodies would be broken and torn apart by the sharp rocks, covering all evidence of the murder.

Watching them now, as they shared the picnic, he wondered who they were. The man was obviously a federal agent, he was sure of that now. His actions were too structured, his stance and movements always alert. She was of no consequence – a bit of fluff – but, the man could be a danger to his longterm plan of staying alive and out of prison. When the agent looked up, his intense dark eyes once again studying his surroundings, he knew he could not play games with this guy. He had to kill them now. They were vulnerable, in the open there, picnicking by the lake. It would be easier to strike now, before they got back to the cabin.

He knew the first shot would have to count and put the agent down, but, in the last couple of minutes a few dark clouds had gathered and affected the visibility. He had never been that good of a shot, but from this distance, he was pretty sure he could at least hit him. Once he was down, he could move in for the kill. If things didn't go as planned, he would just shoot them both there at the lake. If he got lucky and was able to kill the man quickly, he could still take the woman back to the cabin for a little fun. It looked like quite a storm was brewing and he would rather wait in the cabin for the other two men to return with the SUV. He would kill them when they did, putting a bullet in them as soon as they got out of the vehicle.

Regrettably, he would have to kill the woman, too. A hostage would just complicate his escape. There would be other woman, though. He had never had any trouble finding women before he was sent to prison – in fact, it was because of a women that he was sent there in the first place. Kitty; that two timing bitch. He had caught her with that used car salesman and killed them both. He had enjoyed squeezing the life out of her, watching the light leave her terrified eyes, her lover still in the bed with a hole in his forehead.

Changing his mind again, he decided he would just leave all four bodies where they fell and get out of the area as quickly as he could. It was desolate up here and even if anyone else knew where they were, he was sure he could be far enough away by the time they were discovered. He would dump the Suburban and switch vehicles as often as he could. Besides, he mused, the wildlife in this area might even help him out. He knew there had to be cougars or coyotes that would be happy for the free meal, and what they didn't take, the crows or buzzards could finish. DNA identification could take a while.

He watched, alert now, as the man and woman rose and began gathering the remains of the picnic. He didn't miss the fact that the agent had once again looked his way, studying the tree line. He pulled the gun from his pocket and released the safety. It was time.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Necessary Action

**chapter two**

Amita Ramanujan beamed with pleasure, her lovely smile spreading across her face easily, and she reached into the picnic basket sitting next to her.

"This is Charlie's favorite," she said, as she lifted out the third slice of rich chocolate cake with her special caramel and crushed pecan frosting she had packed that morning. "He always eats a second piece, too." She unwrapped it, and handed it to the dark haired man sitting across from her.

Don Eppes smiled at her. "Well, I'll have to compliment Charlie on his tastes," he said smoothly, taking the plate from her hand. "Both in cake and in women." His voice was casual and had that playful teasing tone he used with her. Despite his candidness, she found herself blushing and she laughed.

She settled back, watching as he enjoyed the dessert with as much enthusiasm as his brother would have if he were here and wondered about the complexities in life.

The only thing she was certain about was that nothing was certain. She most certainly didn't think when she took this cake out of the oven last night, just before midnight, that she would be sharing it with Don instead of Charlie, or that she would be sitting here in the shade of a large tree, beside a lovely lake, contemplating her life over a picnic.

She really was happy – content, she decided – with her life. Her "on again – off again" relationship with Charlie had finally gotten over the last hump of awkwardness and they were moving forward toward some type of commitment. She loved her teaching position at CalSci and found her work on the Higgs-Bosen project with Larry rewarding and challenging. In the midst of all that, she still managed, somehow, to find time to help Charlie on the occasional FBI case. All of it could be overwhelming sometimes, though, and she often felt the need to get away for just a short time.

The phone call from her parents a few days ago seemed to be just the break she needed. An old family friend, who owned a fishing cabin near the western edge of the Sequoia National Forest, suddenly found himself unable to close it up and prepare it for the winter season. Could she and Charlie ... maybe ...? Amita jumped at the chance for the small getaway. Her and Charlie could both afford to take a day off and the idea of spending it, secluded with him, in a mountain cabin hours away from CalSci, the FBI, and Fleinhardt's God Particle, was icing on the cake, so to speak.

However, as the Ramanujan's family friend had discovered when he broke both of his legs in a skiing accident, life doesn't always go as planned. At the last minute, Charlie was unable to accompany her, and she was forced to change her plans, as well - which might have been for the best, after all.

She had been having doubts if she and Charlie would actually have been able to winterize the small cabin. She, herself, had never even been _in_ a mountain cabin, and even though the owner assured them they would find everything there they would need, she secretly wondered if they were up to it. What does one do to winterize a cabin? Surely, two intelligent people like her and Charlie would have been able to figure it out. She had to admit, though, that echoes of Charlie's father, Alan, berating his genius son for the lack of maintenance on the family home had left her uncertain. Oh, Charlie would have been game, would have been willing to help out. The scientist in him couldn't pass up an opportunity to gather new data or quantify a new experience. She just, somehow, couldn't see him on the roof, checking for weak spots that could develop into a leak during the heavy snows.

This morning, however, she had optimistically packed an elaborate picnic lunch for the two of them, including Charlie's favorite chocolate cake, and met him at CalSci, where he had a few things to finish before they left. She had found him, in his office, frustrated, apologetic and just plain miserable. Professor Parkman had just been there, he explained, pleading for his help with an article that was due at the publishers the next morning. The success of the article could be the deciding factor in him acquiring tenure at CalSci. She tried to tell Charlie she understood, that they could just go another day, or she would try to find someone else.

Just then, Don Eppes had walked in.

Before she knew what was happening, Don volunteered to accompany her to the cabin. He and David were actually on their way to Cedarville to get the sheriff's signature on some release forms in order to wrap up a case. The cabin was just over three hours from Los Angeles and Cedarville another two hours beyond that. In his typical team leader fashion, he delegated David and Colby to talking with the sheriff, dropping him and Amita at the cabin on the way. In the four hour round trip to Cedarville from the cabin and the time spent with the sheriff, he figured he and Amita could have the place winterized before they returned to pick them up.

It was a good plan and everything had fallen into place. David and Colby had left a few hours ago and they already had most of the work done, with just a few last minute items to do just before they left. The stack of wood sitting behind the cabin had been covered with a tarp and tied down They had cleaned the fireplace and closed the damper. She had turned the water off, drained all the pipes and poured plumbing antifreeze in them, then unplugged all the appliances and cleaned out the refrigerator. Don had checked the foundation and roof for any signs of leaks, then cleaned the leaves and debris from the gutter. The back door and been locked and the heavy wooden bar slid across the frame, securing the entrance. Finally, just before they took a break, Don covered the chimney on the roof to prevent any wildlife from making a home in it. All they had left was covering the furniture with sheets, closing and locking the shutters on the two windows that flanked the entrance and locking the front door with the key the owner said he left under a large rock outside. The work had not been hard and she was surprised to find that the time has passed quickly. They had worked well together, with easy familiarity, and the teasing and laughing between them had made it fun.

Ready for a short rest, they had walked nearly half a mile from the cabin to a beautiful lake where they spread the picnic beneath an ancient oak tree. The area around the lake was pristine in it's absence of civilization. Huge boulders of various sizes and shapes dotted the land between the lake and the woods, giving it the appearance of a surreal alien landscape. The trees themselves, taller than anything she had ever seen, towered over the scene like guardians, silent and watchful. From their position they had an unobstructed view of the lake and they sat quietly, watching a few ducks glide through the water, leaving glistening water trails in their wake. It was calm – as in, the calm before the storm - because the weather report was calling for a band of severe thunder storms to move in soon. The sky was still mostly blue, though, and the sun felt good on her face.

Don was looking at a stand of trees to the north. They were beautiful Ponderosa pines, she noticed, full and ready for cold weather. She reached into the basket again and grabbed a bottle of water. She opened it up and took a sip."I didn't know you knew so much about mountain cabins, Don."

He looked at her and chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say that I knew a lot about them, but I spent some time in one, a few years ago." She looked at him, curious, her head cocked a little to the side and her expression silently asking for details. He took another bite of cake and explained. "Back when I was in Fugitive Recovery, my partner, Billy Cooper and I, spent nearly two weeks hold up in a cabin, very much like this one. We were waiting for this guy who was wanted on three counts of murder and armed robbery. His uncle owned the cabin and Billy figured the guy would eventually come up there to hide."

He shook his head, an amused and bewildered look crossing his features. "I don't know." he mused. "It gets real boring living like that. I mean, you'd really have to like all the isolation and everything. Billy, now, that was his thing; live off the land, one with nature, that kind of stuff. He taught me a lot about it. I guess it stayed with me."

"Did the murderer show up?"

"Yep," he nodded, smiling. "Billy was usually right about those things. He has a sixth sense or something. The funny thing was, the guy was really mad at us for being at his uncle's cabin. Threatened us with trespassing."

She laughed with him at the absurdity of the murderer threatening them with trespassing.

It occurred to her suddenly that she knew very little about Don. Even more curious, she realized that in spite of the time she and Charlie spent at the FBI offices explaining equations and various theories, and the many occasions she was part of family gatherings at Charlie's house, and the few times she and Charlie had double dated with Don and Liz Warner, this was the first time she had ever been completely alone with Charlie's older brother.

Finished with his second piece of cake, Don settled back against the large tree with a loud sigh and clasped his hands behind his head. "I could get use to this." he murmured, closing his eyes and she heard the unmistakable tone that told her he would be asleep soon. She watched him. He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him. She knew he dealt with a lot of stress and deadlines on his job and he probably didn't get many days like this either. She was glad it worked out this way and hoped he had enjoyed the day as much as she had.

Amita relaxed, as well, enjoying the peaceful setting. She took another sip of water and let her mind wander and she thought briefly how her life had changed in the last four years since she had met the Eppes family.

She had been Charlie's student, he, her thesis advisor. Obviously, any romantic relationship was frowned upon by the university. She admitted to herself early on, though, that she had feelings for Charlie and been more than willing to act on them if he had been willing. He hadn't. She thought, at the time, it was because of the impropriety of their positions. Now she knew it was just Charlie. He was shy and admittedly slow to pickup on signals thrown his way – even slower to act on anything hinting at romance or relationships. He was such a powerful contrast in study. It was one of the things she loved about him. He was confident to the point of arrogance when it came to his math and so painfully insecure when it came to any social interactions.

Don Eppes, on the other hand, was secure and confident in everything he did, work or socializing. As senior agent in charge of the Violent Crimes Division at the Los Angeles FBI office, he ran a tight ship. In his personal life he was no less commanding. Even though the last few years he had been dealt a string of failed relationships, if a romantic signal was thrown his way, he caught it and lobbed it right back with the velocity of the pro ball player he used to be.

She watched Don sleep, his chest rising and falling with slow, easy movements and his features calm and relaxed. Earlier, he had been wearing a navy jacket over a light blue polo shirt with dark jeans, but he had taken the jacket off as they worked around the cabin. As she watched him rest against the tree, she couldn't help but admire the way his muscled form filled out the shirt. She remembered her first impression of Don Eppes and she laughingly berated herself as she realized she was blushing again.

The Eppes brothers were alike in so many ways, but their differences were as sharp and defined as black and white. Charlie had this immensely bright, loud, frenetic, _needy_ aura; his older brother's was sure and quiet and obscenely sensual.

She had definitely been attracted to Don. He was older and handsome with the "bad boy" persona oozing out of those dark, intense eyes. His tight jeans and designer shades only added to the image. His smile; though, the one that lit up his entire face and caused the corners of his eyes to disappear into soft lines, was her undoing. Oh, yes, she had definitely been attracted and she knew it had been reciprocated. He had flirted and smiled and more than once he had given her his patented look that made a woman feel as though she were being devoured.

An affair with Don would most assuredly been a wild, exciting ride. Even as confident as she was in her current relationship with Charlie, she knew it actually could have gone either way, in the beginning, if Don had pushed it. To his credit, though, he had not pursued her. He was the good guy. He wouldn't crowd in on his little brother's territory. Charlie was, quite possibly, the only one who was slow to realize that he and Amita were meant to be together. He had told her recently that his father, Alan, had always seen it and Don had repeatedly encouraged his brother to "do something about that."

She had to admit, though, that maybe her and Charlie taking it slow had been the right thing to do. Over time their shared professional and intellectual interests had coalesced with their personal feelings and the ensuing friendship had actually strengthened their relationship.

In the end, even though there was still a small amount of harmless flirting, on occasion, between her and Don, their initial physical attraction to each other had turned into mutual respect, admiration and friendship. Familiarity with Don, through her relationship with Charlie, had lead to an easy companionship and a level of comfort she might feel with a brother.

She didn't think, though, that she would ever lose that thing that happened in her stomach when he smiled at her.

There was a sudden shift in the air and an unexpected gust of wind blew tendrils of hair across her face, tickling her nose. Don stirred and opened his eyes, quickly sitting up and away from the tree. She shook her head, bewildered, as she tucked her hair behind her ear. How does he do that? Even though it had looked like he was completely relaxed and sound asleep, his highly trained senses were in full gear and he had noticed the change. Amita watched, fascinated, as he scanned their surroundings, quickly and efficiently, even as he rose casually to his feet. She saw the brief cloud of _something_ pass over his features as his gaze lingered on the line of trees to the north, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

He looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry. Guess I dozed off on you." Amita's gentle smile told him it was alright.

"Thank you for this." he said, waving his hand towards the blanket and the remains of the meal. "I think this might be the best picnic I've ever been on. When we were little, Mom and Dad would take Charlie and me to this little park an hour or so north and we would spend the day playing catch and swimming. Mom would always pack a picnic lunch and . . . well, let's just say it was nice today not having to listen to Charlie predict and calculate the probabilities of consuming a certain amount of ants along with our PB and J sandwiches." She laughed and he continued. "I couldn't ask for lovelier company and the food was delicious." He gave her a small grin and his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Chuck's a lucky man." As he reached down and began clearing the items from the blanket and helping her return them to the basket, he teased, "When are you going to wise up and leave him for me?"

Another strong gust of wind stopped her from answering. "Looks like a storm is moving in." he said, sober now and watching a number of dark clouds that had appeared in the last few minutes. "They can move in quickly up here. Better head back to the cabin and finish up. If we are lucky, David and Colby will be back before it gets too bad."

He picked up the basket and she draped the folded blanket over her arm, knocking the water bottle out of her hands. It fell to the ground, rolling lopsided away from her. She started to bend over to pick it up, but a sudden sharp peal of thunder startled her and she turned to Don, thinking they would make a run for it before it started to rain. She stopped when she felt the light spray on her face and arms. It was already raining. She held her arm in front of her, looking, and her breath left her lungs in such a rush she gasped. It wasn't rain, it was blood. Stunned, she blinked and looked for Don, but he was on the ground. She watched the blood flow from his arm, staining his blue shirt and mixing with the green grass and the purple and yellow wildflowers and . . . suddenly there was too much color. She turned around quickly, looking up at the blue gray sky and the pretty yellow and black birds that flew out of the trees at the sound of another gunshot. Too much color- too much sound- too much blood. She screamed. She couldn't move. She could only watch as Don writhed on the ground in front of her, holding his arm, the blood running between his fingers – and she screamed again.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Necessary Action**

**chapter three**

At first, all he was aware of was the pain – then, as his senses returned in a jumbled rush, Don became aware of a sound more frightening than the pain. The miasma that covered him, clouding his thoughts and hampering simple movement was penetrated by the sound of Amita's terrified screams. With determined effort he dragged himself from the haze that threatened to engulf him. He turned his head and saw her, standing close by, her face and arms splattered with blood, staring at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide with terror. He heard the distinct sound of another gunshot and was horrified to see the blanket she was still holding jerk as the bullet passed through it. He rolled onto his side, took a deep breath and brought his knees up, pushing himself up with his good arm. "Get down!" he yelled, his voice deep and breathless. Grabbing her arm he pulled her to the ground and covered her body with his, protecting her head with his uninjured arm. She was shaking violently and he shifted a little to the side, taking some of his weight off her. Keeping her pinned to the ground with his hand on her shoulder, he forced the muscles of his injured right arm to work and he drew his weapon from the holster. Carefully, he raised up and scanned their surroundings.

There was nothing; no movement, no sound except his harsh breathing and her terrified whimpers. Then the distant sound of actual thunder rolled across the meadow.

The initial shock wore off and his training kicked in. He could feel the pain and the sticky warmth of blood on the back of his upper arm, as well as the front, so he knew the bullet had gone straight through. Two holes meant twice the blood loss, he thought grimly. The shot probably came from the north side of the meadow, away from the lake. The trajectory matched. Searching the line of trees there, he saw no one, but that didn't surprise him. The assailant could be standing just inside the tree line and be hidden in the shadows of the huge trees. He hadn't missed the fact, either, that he and Amita were out in the open, vulnerable, easily susceptible to another attack.

Recalling the feeling of being watched earlier, Don cursed himself for not acting on it and listening to his instincts. He had brushed it off, thinking he just wasn't used to being out of the city environment and had actually smiled at the thought of all the four legged and two winged creatures watching them. He had to admit, though, that nothing had felt right since they had first arrived and found the front door unlocked. Amita had laughed and said it didn't surprise her – the owner wasn't the type who would worry about things like that. He had let her casual explanation and her carefree smile influence him. He realized it was too late for regret now. He didn't know who the shooter was, but he knew both he and Amita were in grave danger.

He could feel her beneath him, shivering, gulping for air in terrified gasps. "Amita. Listen to me." he hissed in her ear, his breath ragged hitches between words. "When I...say Go, get up fast...and run back to the cabin. Don't...stop. Just run...as fast as you can. You understand?"

She couldn't speak, but she nodded, her motions stiff and frantic.

He checked the shadows again, searching the darkness for a sign of – something. Then he saw it; a deeper, darker shape in the blackness and a barely perceptible movement. Fixing the location in his mind, he turned towards Amita and in one quick movement he stumbled awkwardly to his feet. Keeping himself between her and the gunman's position, Don grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up, nearly screaming in pain. "GO!" With his hand on her back he pushed her forward. "RUN!"

She stumbled away, and as she began to run, he turned, gun raised towards the trees and fired. He knew the chances of hitting him at this range with poor visibility was slim, but it served to keep the gunman's attention away from Amita - give her cover as she escaped. As he fired, he step backwards towards the giant oak. Using the tree trunk as cover, he scoured the tree line for movement.

He saw the flare of the muzzle the same instant he heard the shot and pulled his head back to the safety of the tree. He raised his gun, ready to return fire, just as another round burst from the tree line. Later, he would realize the odd noise he heard was the bullet as it ricocheted off the boulder that was located next to the tree. The impacted projectile slammed into his chest with the force of a steam engine and he staggered backwards, one step, before falling to the ground behind the oak, his arms flung out from his body.

He lay there, unmoving, barely able to catch his breath. The pain was all consuming. It radiated throughout his entire body and he nearly retched with it. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, fighting to breath, when the sound of screams penetrated the cloud of pain surrounding him and with horrifying clarity he realized it was Amita's voice. _She came back!!_ "Don! Don, get up! Please!"

There was another gunshot and Amita screamed again, her hands coming up to cover her ears.

Ignoring the frightening onslaught of pain and the panic in his gut that she was _still there _instead of halfway to the cabin, he rolled to his stomach and dragged his knees up under him. He tried to support his upper body with his hands, but his injured arm screamed in protest and he fell forward again, moaning through clenched teeth. The pain in his chest was unbearable and he felt himself drifting away. Her hands were on him, pulling him up, her voice in his ear, terrified and pleading. It was the wet sensation on his cheek that finally broke though his shattered senses. She was crying. Her frightened tears were running down her cheek onto his as she struggled to help him up.

She held onto his arm, supporting his weight as he lurched, unsteady and painfully, to his feet. He held his bloody right arm, still clutching his weapon, tight against the seeping hole in his chest, four or five inches below his right shoulder blade and gasped for air.

Another shot rang out from behind one of the monstrous boulders and Don instinctively ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. He reached out protectively and forced her head down, as well. He saw the gunman run from the protection of the huge rock towards another one, inching closer to them. Don fired off a shot, but his hand was shaking and it went wild. There was another volley from the gunman as he moved to the cover of another boulder, but the bullets sailed over their heads as they staggered under Don's struggle to remain standing.

Shaking, breathless, Don pried Amita's hands loose and pushed her away. "Get out of here!" he rasped, his voice harsh and angry with the fear for her safety. "Get back to the damn cabin!"

Her eyes were wide and she was still crying. She was in a full panic and she reached forward again, grabbing his hand with one of hers while her other hand clutched the material of his shirt desperately. "Come with me, Don." she pleaded.

He was aware that she had never been shot at before, had never been in a situation of seeing someone she knew shot and bleeding and was obviously shocky and irrational, but he couldn't deal with that now. He had to do something, even if she wouldn't leave, and he had to do it now.

Don saw the man suddenly break from his cover, running for the protection of a tree. Quickly he drew Amita behind him, holding her there, tight against his back. Ignoring the searing pain, he raised his bloody arm, gun extended and fired before the gunman could reach the tree. He knew his aim was off and instead of the body shot he was hoping for, the man's leg buckled under him and he went down hard. The impact jarred the weapon from his hand and it skidded ahead of him, sliding under a patch of wild dandelions.

Amita, her voice high with hysterics now, pulled at Don. "Don! We have to go!" He turned to her, his body sagging and non responsive. Painfully drawing what air he could into his lungs he yelled frantically over her screaming. "Amita, get his gun! Get his gun!"

She stopped screaming. She looked at him, mute, wide-eyed and tearful. Then she turned her head frantically, looking for the gun. When she saw it, she jumped forward in stiff, jerky movements and snatched the weapon from the ground. She moved away, putting more space between her and the gunman, who was writhing around on the ground, holding his leg and yelling. Before Don could say anything, she swung her arm back behind her and with a primal scream, flung the weapon towards the lake. Unfortunately, Don noticed with dismay, she threw like a girl and the weapon fell short of the actual water, landing instead in the layers of reeds and mud surrounding the lake.

Unable to remain standing any longer without support, Don went down on his knees, panting, his head hanging low between his shoulders. It took every ounce of willpower he had to remain conscious.

He looked at the man, who was still yelling in pain. Don noticed, with grim satisfaction, that the man's leg wound was bleeding profusely. He looked, then, at Amita, who was standing by the lake, still breathing heavily, panic still residing in her eyes. He wanted to go to her and help her, but he needed a moment. It wasn't over yet and he needed to catch his breath.

He was still clutching his weapon, but the heavy blood flow from the first shot in his arm had run down his forearms and onto his hands, making the grip slippery and hard to hold onto. He knew, though, that within a short time, as the blood dried, it would become sticky and hard to handle. He shifted the gun to his left hand and tried to wipe some of the blood off his hand in the grass. With the gun transferred to his right hand again, he tried to stand up, hoping to make it over to the wounded gunman and find out just what the hell was going on.

Before he could manage to get completely to his feet, he heard Amita's startled gasp. Looking up quickly, Don was horrified to see that the man had somehow gotten to his feet and was sort of running/limping/hopping to where she stood. Don knew he wouldn't be able to get to her before the gunman, and by the time he was able to convince the injured muscles of his arm to raise the gun, the assailant was on her and he didn't have a clear shot.

The man hit her hard across the face and she would have fallen to the ground with the force of the blow, but he held her arm, keeping her upright. He reached around and grabbed a handful of hair and twisted her around, facing the lake. "Go get it, bitch. I need the damn gun. I'm not going back inside, you hear?" His hand still fisted in her hair, he pushed her forward into the marshy reeds on the edge of the lake.

Don was in no condition to sneak up on the gunman. He was lightheaded and sick with pain. He could barely walk, let alone stalk up quietly and launch a surprise attack, so he did what he could. He limped, lurched, staggered and for one short patch actually crawled to where they were still focused, searching for the weapon. His attack, though unexpected, was anything but textbook; it was more of a controlled collapse. He fell forward with all the pitiful strength he could manage and the three of them went down.

Amita was the first one to stand up and she lashed out, mindlessly, franticly, with her feet, kicking the man, landing blows to his midsection and the side of his head. He struggled to rise, but Don's heavy, sluggish weight was on top of him. With a yell of frustration and insane anger, he pushed Don off, throwing the weakened agent into the marsh. Amita backed away, her hands flailing, uncertain what she should do. The madman scrambled to his feet, parting the reeds, desperately searching again for his gun.

With superhuman effort, Don dragged himself to his knees, clenching his teeth against the pain as he raised both arms and pointed his weapon at the unsuspecting gunman. The man sensed it and turned, his eyes wide with shock. In the same instant Don pulled the trigger, the man jerked backwards and to the left. The bullet flayed the skin of his right cheek and he screamed in anger.

Don stood up, shakily, stepping out of the marshy area, his gun still aimed at their assailant. Before Don could fire again, the man leaped forward, grabbed Amita by her arms and turned her around, putting her between him and Don. She cried out in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh - then suddenly he pushed her violently towards Don. The agent reached out to catch her, but was unable to stop her momentum and he cried out in pain as her body slammed into his. The two of them fell, tangled together, onto the ground. Grunting in pain, Don slid out from under her and rose to his knees again, gun up and ready, but the gunman was limping quickly back towards the trees, using the boulders as cover. Gasping for breath, Don lowered himself slowly to the ground and Amita crawled over to him. He wrapped his good arm around her trembling shoulders and pulled her into him, both of them breathing heavily and watched the mysterious gunman disappear, once again, into the woods.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. They are the best indicator of how a story is being received and each one is appreciated.**

**Necessary Action**

**chapter four**

Sheriff Wally Singleton liked his job.

He liked every part of his job, even the inane paperwork and the countless triplicate forms that someone, somewhere in the state department insisted on. He liked the training and court appearances. He enjoyed crowd control at the annual Cedarville Christmas parade down main street. He didn't even mind the after hours call to a crime scene or the horrific investigation and reconstruction of accidents out on Rt.118. It was part of the job and the job was his life.

Born Walter Singleton III fifty two ago to a wealthy investment banker and his socialite wife in Boston, his life had been carefully planned out and executed until his senior year in Harvard when his mother arranged for him to spend a month in southern California at the Tule River Indian Reservation, just outside of Porterville. She always preached that with wealth came responsibility and she was constantly involved in several humanitarian projects. That year she arranged for him to help the tribal leaders convince President Jimmy Carter to return over 1200 acres of timberland to the tribe.

Walter Singleton III never returned to Harvard – but, it was Wally who stayed in California.

He fell in love with the rugged beauty of the area that lay just west of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range and knew it was where he wanted to live. To his parents horrified dismay, he finished his law degree at a lesser college in California and after graduation used a small inheritance from his grandparents to have a large cabin built between Fresno and the Sierra Nevada's. He married Julie two years later and they filled the cabin with four children. Twenty years after his first arrival in the area he was elected Sheriff – and he liked his job.

Unfortunately, Julie didn't feel the same way and she had divorced him over eight years ago, taking the two youngest with her. She remarried a nice safe accountant in Sacramento who took her on an ocean cruise every year. His grown children never called him anymore and his only companion now was Carson, the stray mutt that adopted him three winters ago.

He knew he could be stubborn and crass on occasion and Julie had always complained about his narrow mindedness and thinking more about the job than he did her. Maybe she was right.

He took his job as sheriff very seriously and did not take lightly to anyone else coming in. He could take care of his little corner of the world just fine, thank you very much. He sure as hell didn't need any stiff necked feds coming in and taking over. That's why, two months ago, when he had turned up evidence that a group of radicals had taken up residence in an abandoned house in the eastern section of the county, he grumbled about having to call the FBI. The group was stockpiling weapons and there were rumors they planned an attack of some sort. Turned out they were already under investigation by the FBI. They had actually relocated to that area from Los Angeles, quite a bit out of the jurisdiction of the LA office, but the Bureau sent the same team to Cedarville that handled the case in LA.

He had heard how some bureau agents were overbearing and hard to work with and previous personal experience had confirmed that. He had been pleasantly surprised when Special Agent Don Eppes and his team had arrived. Eppes had made it clear from the beginning that he and his team had the last word, but they didn't shut him out of the investigation either. They were willing to use his expertise, his experience, his knowledge of the terrain and surrounding area. It was almost as if they were used to working with an outsider and knew just how to best utilize his help.

In the end, after discovering solid evidence that indicated the group planned to blow up a federal building in Fresno, they arrested eight men and five women and found an entire building full of stolen weapons, explosives and over $50,000.00 in counterfeit bills. It was the big news in those parts for a long time and Wally had basked in his part of it.

He was looking forward to seeing Don, David and Colby again. On a first name basis with the entire team, Wally had even made some of his locally famous homemade elderberry jam for each of them to take home. He was sorry to hear that Megan Reeves was back east working now and would not be with them. Her smile had a way of making his old bones feel young again.

He snorted at that thought. "Listen to me, Carson. You'd think I never get visitors."

The mix breed raised his head at the mention of his name, his dark eyes looking at the man, but seeing that there was no food involved, lowered his head again with a sigh. Wally sighed, as well, admitting to himself, that maybe he was a bit lonely.

The fax machine in the corner rang and began the process of accepting an incoming message. Shaking off his melancholy, Wally walked over to retrieve it. He scanned the fugitive report - a 'Still at Large' memo - noting again, as he had last week, the man's physical description and details of his escape six days ago from Pelican Bay State Prison.

He laid the fax on his desk when he heard the sound of car doors slamming shut. His office door opened a few seconds later and Wally smiled at the sight of Special Agents Sinclair and Granger filling the entrance. "Come in. Come in, boys." He waved his hand exuberantly, motioning for them to come in. "It's good to see you again. How's life in the big city?"

"Keeps us busy." Colby smiled as he stepped forward, grabbing Wally's hand in a strong clasp. David repeated the hand shake. "How have you been, Wally?"

"Getting old, damn it. Can feel it in my bones. Hate it." Both agents laughed and he added, "Don't let it keep me down, though. Election's coming up in three months and I figure I got another round or two in me."

"Good for you." David smiled.

The sheriff walked away to a small table in the corner of his office. "Coffee?" he asked, reaching for some cups. At Colby's nod and David's polite refusal, Wally poured one cup and handed it to Colby. "Where's the big guy?" he asked.

"Don's helping a friend a couple of hours south of here near the Sequoia National Forest. Closing up a cabin for winter. Dave and I will pick them up on our way back down."

Wally nodded, knowing the importance of the winterizing, but was disappointed in not seeing Don again. He saw that David had leaned against the edge of his desk and had noticed the fax. Wally motioned his head towards him, indicating he should pick it up. As the agent read it, Wally remarked, "As long as there's the likes of him making life miserable for decent folks, I figure all of us will keep busy."

"Jack Lovett." David read. "Doing double life in Pelican."

Looking over his shoulder, Colby remarked, "I remember him. Happened there in LA. Murdered his ex and her new boyfriend. Real cold bastard."

"Killed a guard last week and escaped." Wally's voice was grim and tight. "Everyone from Crescent City to San Diego is on the lookout for him."

Silently, David walked over to the far wall, where a large detailed map of the state of California was displayed. Studying it, he said, "He could go either way – north or south. North to Vancouver or south to Mexico. My bet is Mexico. He'd know the main roads would be covered so, unless he had help, he'd have to find a less traveled way." As he spoke he ran his finger down the map, trailing Rt.'s 101 and 5 from Crescent City. He broke away from them, hypothesizing a different path for Lovett when his finger stopped at Sequoia National Forest. The three men were silent, each of them calculating the odds that of all the places in southern California for Lovett to go, what were the odds that he would run across Don and Amita.

Colby finally spoke. "Nah, way too much out of the way. He wouldn't go that far off the main roads and into the wilderness."

"Yeah." David agreed. "He'll want to get to Mexico as fast as he can. In fact, he's probably already there, hitting some little Spanish honey and laughing at us." David paused, letting the logic of what he had said sink in, as all three men fought with the completely irrational feeling that their friends may be in danger. "Besides that, Don's got his gun." he said with assurance.

"And Amita's with him. She'll protect him." Colby smirked.

David shared a laugh with his partner and walked away from the map.

Wally rubbed his hands together. "So, let's get the damn business out of the way. Give me those papers to sign, then we can get to the important stuff." He turned to Colby. "You brought your fishing gear with you, right?"

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Don fell forward, gasping, through the open doorway of the cabin, his arm stretching forward to stop his fall just short of the floor. Amita lurched forward with him and lost her grip on his arm. He tried to turn, reaching for the door to close it, but his hand slipped in the blood that ran down his arm onto the floor in front of him. He cried out in agony as he hit the floor and rolled away, curling into himself.

Amita started towards him, her arms out stretched to help him, but he waved her away, desperately. "....door," he hissed through clenched lips.

_Oh crap._ She quickly threw her shoulder into the door, slamming it closed and turning the lock. She looked back at him and saw his pain filled eyes dart to the unlocked windows. Understanding, she bolted forward toward them, but stopped when he nearly screamed out, "NO!" Alarmed, she looked back at him. "Stay...to the...side. Don't...stand in front." She nodded, mechanically, doing as he said and secured the lock on the window and closed the shutters. She hurried to the other window on the other side of the door, crouching down below the frame as she passed in front of it. She jumped, startled, as a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by a roll of thunder. The storm was close. She secured the second window, throwing the small cabin into semi-darkness and hurried back to Don.

He was struggling to breath, moaning with each exhale, and still curled into himself. She knelt down beside him and saw the blood pooling onto the floor. "Oh, God." she cried. "Oh, God, Don."

He was fumbling with his cell phone, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't open it. She took it from him, grimacing as her fingers slipped in the blood on the outside case, and opened it. "911?" she asked him, her finger poised over the dial. He shook his head, "No," he gasped, "David." At her hesitation he said, "The gunman's...still out there. Paramedics wouldn't be...safe." He told her what speed dial the agent was and she dialed it quickly. It was answered before the second ring.

"Hey, boss, what's up?"

"Don'shurtweneedhelp. . ."

"Whoa, Amita, slow down." The agent's voice instantly became sharp and professional. "Don's hurt? How?"

"Somebody shot him!" she exclaimed. Her voice was unnaturally high and filled with fear. "His shirt, it's bleeding - **he's** bleeding - there's so much . . .."

"Alright, Amita," David interrupted in a calm even voice, "Are you at the cabin? Are you safe?"

"Yes. No. I - - I don't know. We're at the cabin. I don't know if he followed us." Her voice caught on a sob and she blurted out, frustrated at the questions, "David, Don's hurt!"

Ignoring Amita's panic, David continued, "Are you secure?"

"Secure?" she asked, puzzled, then understanding, she nodded her head. "Yes, everything is locked and boarded up."

"Do you know who shot Don?" David asked. "Did you see him? What did he look like?"

"No!" Amita yelled into the phone, her frustration mounting. "David, please! We need help!"

David repeated in a calm, firm voice. "Amita, did you see him? Describe the man."

In the face of David's single-minded pursuit of inane information, Amita took a deep breath and described their attacker. "He came out of nowhere." she added. "Don shot him; in the leg, I think."

"That will slow him down." David responded, then finally, he said, "Alright. We're on our way. Do what you can for Don. We'll bring help."

Amita closed the phone and laid it on the floor. Don moaned again, rolling towards her, his entire body trembling in pain.

"Oh, God." Her voice hitched, breathless and frightened. Her hands hovered over him, afraid to touch him. "What do I do, Don? What do I do?"

"Need...you to stay...calm." His voice sounded harsh and weak, even to his own ears. She nodded her head, automatically, as if she were saying, "_Sure, calm, I can do that_", but her eyes were wide and dark and fearful.

"Have to...stop the bleeding. Need . . ."

"What, Don?"

"Towels, sheets. All...blankets you...can find."

She ran towards the bedroom and bath. In a corner of the bathroom she found a laundry basket. She picked it up and ran back into the hallway. She opened the small linen closet and slid all of the towels in one swoop into the basket, then reached for two sheets on the shelf above. There was an extra blanket on the top shelf and she tossed it on top of the basket. Leaving the now heavy basket on the floor, she ran into the bedroom. She pulled the comforter off the large bed and ran from the room, dragging the heavy cover on the floor behind her. She bent, grabbed the basket and tucked it under her arm, then rushed into the large room again. She cried out at what she saw.

Don was trying to drag himself across the floor. Curling his right arm tight into his chest, he had his left arm stretched out above his head on the floor, using it and his legs to propel himself forward. The painful gasps and moans that came from him made her cry out again. "Oh, Don." Dropping the basket, she hurried over to him. "Don, stop. You're hurting yourself."

"I need...to...be over there." he hissed, his lips thin and white with pain.

She saw, then, what he wanted. Leaning over him, she put one hand under his good arm and the other one carefully under the armpit of his injured one. Putting all of her strength to it, she lifted him as much as she could, easing some of the weight he was trying to move. He cried out loudly, unnerving her, but began to move. Struggling together, they made it to the wall, where he turned himself around and fell back against it, shaking and gasping. She looked at him. His eyes were glazed and filled with pain, but they were also flicking between the door and the two windows at the front of the cabin. He had a clear view of both now. She understood. It was a good position of defense. With the back door already boarded up, there could be no surprises.

She quickly retrieved the basket of linens she had gathered and knelt down beside him again.

A sob caught in her throat as she looked at him. He was slumped against the wall, already listing a little to the right, and his breaths were coming heavy and ragged. She felt the fear bubble up inside her again and her hands started trembling. Her eyes fell to his chest and the shirt she had admired earlier, now bloody and wet from the lake. Slowly, she began to shake her head, panic overtaking her. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening."

He saw the panic in her eyes and reached for her arm. It was her undoing. She saw the bloody hand reaching for her and she recoiled, gasping, suddenly unable to breath. "I can't do this. I can't."

"...mita." His whispered plea was filled with both desperation and compassion. He pulled his hand back, letting it fall limply to his lap and he moaned softly. He knew how close she was to a complete breakdown and he was afraid of pushing her over. For a few precious, painful heartbeats he concentrated on slowing his breathing, unable to help her, hoping she would be able to control her own.

When she turned to him again, her eyes filled with anguish and fear, he murmured, "I need your help, sweetie. I can't...do it alone."

The plaintive and imploring tone of his voice - something she had never heard from him before - ripped through her fear, reaching her consciousness in a way nothing else could and it temporarily eased her panic. She straightened her back and reached for his hand. "Tell me what to do, Don. I've never ..." She gestured towards him, towards the bloody shirt and he nodded, understanding.

"My arm...first." he said. She swallowed hard and reached for a small hand towel. She forced back the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of the blood oozing out of a jagged hole in the upper part of his arm. She noticed the blood running down the back of his arm, as well, and forced the panic back. Amita wrapped the cloth over both wounds and pressed down on it. He hissed, followed by a low throaty moan, but replaced her hand with his. "Tie it off." he gasped. She took one of the sheets out of the basket and tried to rip it apart. Unable to even start a tear, she stood up and went into the small kitchen where she pulled a sharp knife from the drawer. She bit her lip in frustration when the knife fell from her trembling hands. "Dammit." She picked it up and tried again. She returned to Don with several strips of the white cotton. He raised his arm slightly so she could wrap it around and was frightened at the amount of strength it cost him. She wrapped the strip around his arm twice then tied it off. "Tighter." he groaned. The muscles in his neck clenched as she pulled it tighter and he hissed again in pain. "I'm sorry," she cried, her lower lip trembling, but he shook his head. "Bleeding...too much. Has to...be tight."

She gave him a few seconds to recover. When he raised his eyes and nodded, she picked up another towel and with trepidation, she moved towards the bloody wound in his chest. His hand reached out and stopped her, holding her wrist just inches from the wound. He locked eyes with her, staring at her with such intensity she recoiled, pulling back slightly, uncertain and afraid. "You have...to press hard on it. Hold it down...tight." He was shaking and the sweat stood out on his face as though he had just stepped out of the shower.

She nodded silently, speechless and wide eyed.

"It's going to...hurt like a son of a bitch. I'll try to hold still, but I... might yell. I don't want...to scare you."

She almost laughed at the absurdity of his words. _Too late. I'm already scared. Afraid. Frightened. Terrified beyond all reason._ She wasn't sure she could do this. "Don, I don't know if I . . ."

He stopped her, his hand reaching out and caressing her cheek. He winced at the large area between her eye and jaw line that was beginning to turn dark and swell. "Don't worry. It'll be...alright. Just stay with me." He bit his lower lip, grimacing, but held her gaze. "You can do it."

Amita swallowed and nodded, his calmness giving her the resolve she needed. She leaned forward and pressed the towel hard against the wound. He choked off his scream by clenching his teeth, but even through his thin lipped grimace, the horrible moan that escaped broke her heart and she nearly faltered. She remained steady, though, and when one towel soaked completely through, she exchanged it for another.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N; Thank you once again for the wonderful reviews. Don and Amita have some rough times ahead. I hope you all stay with us a little longer.**

**Necessary Action**

**chapter five**

When David's phone rang he silently thanked the phone god for the distraction. Wally and Granger were debating the effectiveness of something called the BB Screamer against the Bead Head Steely Stone for steelhead and rainbow trout fishing. The only fishing tackle-lure-thingy David knew about was Colby's Wooly Bugger that he kept at his desk and he had no idea - nor did he want to know - how it worked. What he did find amusing – in an uncanny and peculiar way – was hearing the two of them discussing "one of the best – the 'Crazy Charlie'".

Just before opening his phone, he glanced at the caller ID and seeing that it was Don, he gratefully walked away from the two anglers. Both Wally and Colby noticed when David's head jerked up and his shoulders tensed. Colby excused himself and joined his partner. When David closed his phone, the two men looked at each other grimly, then crossed the room again to where Wally was still standing.

"I think we just found Jack Lovett." David's voice was tight and the agent's jaw was clenched even tighter.

Wally had been in law enforcement long enough and he recognized the look. His gut clenched – he knew. "Eppes down?" he asked quietly.

David nodded. "Yeah. That was Amita on the phone. She says Don's been shot. The shooter's description fits Lovett. We have to get to them now."

As if mocking him the sky lit up with multiple strikes of lightning followed by the long vibrating boom of thunder.

Wally shook his head. "With this weather, you won't make it back there for three hours or more."

"How about a helicopter?" Colby asked.

Wally rubbed the back of his neck and the agents saw the frustration and embarrassment in the sheriff's expression.. "The county only has two at it's disposal. One's down for repair and the other one made an emergency flight to Fresno just before you guys got here. It isn't due back until tomorrow morning."

Both David and Colby muttered under their breaths. Then Colby asked, hopefully. "How about the parks? Sequoia and King Canyon should have rescue choppers, don't they? Can we use one of theirs?"

"They do," Wally agreed, then added, "but they are regulated by strict government guidelines and none of them would be allowed to take off in this weather."

David actually growled at that. "Listen," he said. "We can't just leave them there. Amita said Don's losing a lot of blood. And Lovett could attack them again. There has to be a way to get to them."

The sheriff turned and walked across the room. David and Colby remained silent as Wally paced back again, stepping over a sleeping Carson. Finally, he rubbed the back of his head and looked at the agents. "There may be a way," he said, "but . . ."

"No buts." David growled again. "What do you have?"

Wally hesitated for just an instant, then said, "I know a guy. Name's Chip Mendesoa. He's ex-military, did a couple of tours overseas, starting with the first skirmish in the gulf. He has an old helicopter he flies on occasion."

"Well, let's go then. Where does he live?"

Grabbing his jacket and sliding his arms into the sleeves Wally turned to David. "I'll take you there. But, it won't be easy talking Chip into it. He's kind of a loner since he left the army. Doesn't like to be bothered."

"Not a problem. I'm sure he'll see things our way." David added, confidently, as they opened the door and walked back out into the storm. As Wally turned to close the door behind them, he turned to Carson, who rose stiffly from his spot on the floor, his tail wagging in anticipation of a ride in the car. "If I were you, Carson, I'd stay here. I'm afraid this is going to be one hell of a showdown."

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His eyes were closed, and his skin had turned a chalky white, but Amita knew Don was still conscious. She saw the deep lines furrowed in his forehead as he tried to control his breathing and manage the pain. He drew in deeply through his nostrils in an effort to even his breathing and remain calm.

Don opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times, trying to bring her into focus. "Amita." The emotion was thick and heavy in his voice. "You need...to get out of here." He curled his lower lip between his teeth, then released it, running his tongue over the dryness. "You could slip out the back door. The woods...behind here are pretty...thick. You need to...you could...hide there...until David and Colby get here."

She thought longingly of the heavily wooded area a short distance from the rear of the cabin, knowing a person could probably hide for a short time among the deep foliage. A person who was able to move quickly and stay ahead of his predator would certainly be able to stay out of sight for a few hours, at least, until the cavalry arrived. She shifted her eyes back to Don, wondering if . . .. One glance, however, at his weakened, pale form and she made her decision. "No."

He opened his mouth to protest and she cut him off in what she hoped was a strong voice that left no room for argument - not like the hysterical ravings at the lake, earlier. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Don."

His reaction surprised her. The corners of his mouth curled up and he muttered, "Charlie said...you could be stubborn."

She raised her head, sticking her chin out slightly and returned his smile. "Charlie says it's just one of my many endearing qualities that he admires."

His smile turned into a grimace, and he closed his eyes again, willing the pain away. She sat quietly, beside him, then asked, "How long do you think it will take David and Colby to get here?"

He raised heavy lidded eyes and answered in a shaky voice that tried for humor, "Depends on whether David...lets Granger drive."

Amita smiled and tried for the same humor, but her voice was weak. "Maybe they'll just hijack a helicopter and be here before we know it." Even as she said it, she turned her gaze to the front of the cabin with despair. The sounds outside gave testimony to the fierceness of the storm. Howling winds and the rumble of the loudest thunder she had ever heard caused the shutters at the windows to tremble. The fact that no helicopter could fly in such a storm remained unsaid and another heavy silence fell between them.

Don's head lolled, weakly, onto his shoulder and he closed his eyes, moaning quietly. His lips were dry and he tried to run his tongue over them, but he was already dehydrated from the blood loss and his tongue felt thick and swollen. She watched him, recalling the anti freeze in the drained pipes, and the rolling water bottle at the lake, and felt utterly helpless. She reached forward and checked the towels. There was more dark dried blood than there was bright red, indicating his bleeding has slowed down. Encouraged, she allowed herself to think that just maybe he would be alright and they would make it out of this situation intact. "You just rest." She tried to sound reassuring. "They'll be here soon."

"May not...be soon enough." he whispered.

"What do you mean?" she asked, then gasped as she realized what he was saying. "No! Don, don't say that. Don't even think it."

He seemed to gather a bit of strength and turned to her, his eyes earnest and serious. "Amita. I've lost a lot of blood." he started. She held her breath at the urgency in his actions and manner. "You need to watch if my breathing...or pulse increases too much. I could...get cold, clammy and I'll start shaking. If that...happens, I could go into shock. I might...pass out."

Amita didn't think she could be more frightened than she had been at the lake, but she was wrong. This conversation was terrifying her. "What do I do?"

"Make sure...the bleeding is stopped. Keep me warm. Let me lie flat if...I fall over. Don't elevate my feet - not with a...chest wound." He paused, taking as deep a breath as he could. "I may...get confused and...not make sense."

She fought the tears that threatened and quickly reached for one of the blankets in the basket. She draped it across Don's chest, careful not to disturb the latest towel she had used to stop the bleeding. She added the comforter and tucked it gently around his legs and shoulders to keep it in place. She had to keep him warm. Somehow she knew if he went into shock and passed out, the chances of him surviving would be drastically reduced. If nothing else, she could do this. She could keep him warm and awake. The thought of him passing out and leaving her alone here was horrifying. If he got cold and started to shake, she would just slide under the blankets with him.

"'mita." His hand moved under the layers of blankets, fumbling, trying to find it's way out. She reached for it, taking his cold hand between her two warm ones. "I need you...to listen to me," he said, his voice weak and laced with desperation. "There are things...you need to know."

She shook her head. She was sure she didn't want to hear what he was going to say. "No. Don. They will make it. David and Colby . . ."

He knew it had only been a short time since they had been attacked at the lake and she was still dealing with it. He heard the beginnings of panic in her voice, again. He swallowed hard. Her emotions were yo-yoing and he needed her calm, clear headed. "You...have to listen to me. If he finds that gun he could come after us here. We need to...act." He watched her breathing quicken and saw the fear in her eyes return. He wanted to reassure her, help her, but he knew what he had to do, and he wasn't sure there would be enough time to do it.

"Amita. Sweetheart. We need to...act. You can do this."

"What?" She was shaking her head. "No, Don, I . . . "

He wet his lips again. "A.C.T. Act. They...teach it in Quantico. **A**ssess the situation. **C**onsider your options. **T**ake - - necessary action."

Through the despair and the fear, Amita suddenly saw a small flicker of hope. It sounded a little like Game Theory. Maybe she could do this.

He saw the recognition and realization replace the panic in her eyes and he sighed with relief. She was nodding her head, her quick, analytical mind already working.

"Alright. Assess the situation." She took a deep breath and began. "We've been attacked by an unknown person for an unknown reason. You've been hurt badly and need medical help as soon as possible. We are miles from anyone and it could take hours for David and Colby to reach us. He may attack again and we are in no position to stop him."

"'atta a girl." Don breathed, letting his head rest against the wall.

Momentarily sidetracked by her own thoughts, Amita asked, "Who is he, Don? What does he want?" Her voice had a hopeful tone to it, as though, if they knew who he was, it would all make sense.

Don shook his head slowly. "I don't know, honey." He didn't want to say anything to upset her again, to add to her fear, but he felt strongly that she needed to know the seriousness of the situation they were in. "I don't know who he is, but...I think he's an escaped convict." He continued talking over her startled gasp. "He said he didn't want to go back in. I think he's...on the run."

What didn't make sense to Don was that the escapee was there, instead of on his way to Mexico. Why here, close to Sequoia National Forest; unless it was on the way to somewhere else he was heading. The real question now, though, wasn't where he was heading, but whether he would come after them again. Don had to assume he would. There would be no witnesses. He had probably seen that they were alone and . . . wait . . . the Suburban. He wanted the vehicle. He didn't need them alive for that, though. He could kill them now and wait for David and Colby to return, then shoot them and escape with the SUV. By the time they would be missed he could be across the border or wherever he was heading.

He thought of Amita and what the man would most likely do to her and an uncontrollable anger and fear welled up inside him. He looked at her. He could see she was unsettled and worried. Better to keep her focused, he thought. "Next step." he whispered.

Allowing Don to direct her, she nodded and continued. "Consider the options."

Don knew what their options were and he knew that Amita did, as well; she just needed to face them. He watched her as she weighed different scenarios and action plans in her head and he saw the instant that reality set in for her. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders, but Don saw the defeatism and hopelessness in her eyes as she looked at him. "There's really only two, isn't there?" she said just above a whisper. "Either we wait for help to arrive or we help ourselves."

The realization hit her hard and she took several deep breaths.

Just a few months ago, she had been in a better position than Charlie to help Don and his team on a murder case involving a role playing video game named Primacy. Things had gotten out of hand and she found herself in the most unlikely of scenarios – meeting face to face with the murderer. She had been wired, of course, with Don on the other end of the communication, guiding her, directing her, encouraging her. She had been terrified, but hearing Don's voice as he ordered his team into positions around her and the tone of his voice as he talked to her, using terms of endearment to calm her and help her stay focused, she had been able to walk into the building and face the killer, Gary Meyers. Don had been there for her that day, he and his team saving her when Meyers jumped out and wrapped his arm around her throat. Don had been in charge and he had protected her.

She looked at him now; pale, bloody, wracked with pain and fighting unconsciousness to stay awake for her. He was still in control, still the leader, still the one who knew what to do and how to do it. He just needed her help to accomplish it and she didn't want to let him down.

Amita swallowed hard, realizing what that meant. Could she take the final step? If Don was unable to do it, could she take the necessary action to save them? Could she kill a man?

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N; Thanks again to all the people reading this story and a special thanks to the ones who reviewed.**

**Necessary Action**

**chapter six**

The storm had moved on, but a cold front was pushing the system through quickly and another storm came in right behind it, more fierce than the first one.

Amita sat on the floor beside Don, listening to the sounds of the angry weather. Despite the dark clouds, there was still enough light outside that filtered in through the shutters to illuminate the small cabin and Amita could still see Don clearly. His breathing had evened out a little and he was resting, his head leaning back against the wall. He felt her gaze on him and he opened his eyes.

"It's getting dark." he said, his voice low and weak. "If he...is as desperate as I think he is, he'll...come after us soon."

"But David and . . .."

He shook his head, his expression suddenly hard, his voice becoming harsh. "We have to...face facts. This storm will slow them down. They may not make it in time."

"Don . . ."

"No, listen to me. I'm sorry, but we...don't have any other options. You need...to be ready for him."

She shivered at the implication of "you" instead of "we" and returned his gaze, apprehensive but resigned and trusting him. "What do you want me to do, Don?"

She was afraid - he could see that - but, to her credit she held his gaze, ready and listening. He began, "You need...to be sure, be ready and stay calm. You can't let...your fear control you. Don't give him...a chance, Amita and don't fight fair. He won't. If he gets in and tries to...," he faltered, avoiding her eyes for a second before continuing, "hurt you, fight dirty...but keep it simple and defined. If you can, find a club...or something hard. If not, use...your elbows, knees...they're the hardest part of your body. His vulnerable spots are...his eyes, his throat. Don't be afraid to...go after them. The fastest way to...put him down...is a knee to the groin. Make it...count, though. Don't hold back."

He spoke earnestly, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation without adding to her fear. It was a fine line, he knew, and one he was afraid to cross. He reached forward, touching her hand, and the corners of his dry lips curled up slightly as he tried to smile, hoping to reassure her.

"It'll be alright." he said. "He won't...be expecting Kahli, Goddess of Destruction."

At the name of the avatar she created to play Primacy, Amita leaned back, away from him, pulling her hand from his. "This isn't a game, Don!" she exclaimed, appalled that he could see any humor in the situation. "If we lose, I can't just log on and click re-spawn and start all over again."

Although he was thrilled to see the anger instead of fear in her, his expression became dark and razor edged. "No, you're right, it's not a game. That's a real man out there, with a real gun...and very real intent." She swallowed and nodded her head, ashamed that she had snapped at him and he continued. "But, he's wounded, too, and...desperate. He won't be thinking clearly. He'll make mistakes...and you need to take advantage of that."

He locked eyes with her for just an instant, a myriad of emotions showing in his pale expression, then slowly, he moved his left arm across his chest and reached down, pulling his gun from the holster on his right hip. Her eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently, every ounce of her resolution and bravado gone.

"No, Don. No, I won't. I can't. I . . . I don't even know how."

"He won't know that." Don argued. "He won't...be expecting you to be pointing a gun at him. He knows I'm down...but he'll still be expecting me...to make the move. He'll hesitate. Use it."

Her jaw clenched stubbornly and she shook her head again, firmly. "No."

His head dropped to his chest and he took several deep breaths. She saw the overwhelming weariness in him when he raised his eyes to her again and reached for her hand.

". . . mita." His hands were ice cold and his dark eyes were literally begging for her to understand. "I swear...if I can...I won't let him touch you. But...I may not be...able to help you. I may be unconsciousness or dead, and . . .."

"No, Don!"

It had been there, all along. It had hovered between them, unspoken and ignored, but it was the truth and she had to face it. He could die. Charlie's brother - Alan's son - her friend could die. He could die and she would be alone to defend herself against this terror. She understood the fear she saw in his eyes, then, and knew, with certainty, that it wasn't dying Don was afraid of. He faced death so often on his job that he had dealt with that particular emotion a long time ago. He was afraid for her; afraid he wouldn't be there to save her as he had before; afraid she would not be able to handle herself – that she would be at the mercy of the escaped convict who had already tried to kill them.

That was what this was all about. ACT. She had assessed their situation correctly and had considered their options. Don was just preparing her for the eventuality that she would have to take the necessary action to save them if he couldn't.

With a deep shudder, she decided if their safety depended on her she would rather know all the variables and be as prepared as she could be.

Don saw the resistance fade from her eyes and knew she understood. He hated himself for what he was going to put her through – for what he was going to make her do – but it might be the only way to save them – to save herself.

She swallowed, pushing back her moral objections and gave a small hesitant nod of her head. Her entire body shuddered as he took her right hand, covering her slender fingers with his bloody ones and wrapped them high around the thick handle of his weapon. "Hold it gently, firmly."

He paused, unexpectedly breathless, at the sight of her holding the Glock. He had never seen anything as obscene or offensive as the deadly firearm in her delicate hand – a hand that belonged on a computer or whiteboard – not trembling at the feel of the cold metal.

He shook it off and leaned forward, checking her grip. "Place your finger here." He laid the first finger of her right hand along the side of the trigger guard. "The safety will deactivate when you touch the trigger, so...don't touch it until you are ready to shoot. When you do, just...squeeze it, easy and smooth."

She was breathing heavy, her jaw clenched, but allowed him to move her fingers into position. "You'll need both hands to hold it." He brought her left hand around and closed the four fingers over her right hand. He checked it, making sure all, except the trigger finger, were wrapped tightly around the handle and under the trigger guard. He positioned her thumbs along the side of the handle, butting up against each other, side by side. "Make sure...all of your fingers are tight, no gaps." She nodded, flexing her fingers, then tightening them around the handle again.

"He'll be close - there at the door - so don't...extend your arms all the way out. He can't...knock the gun out of your hands as easily if you keep it in close to you." He moved her arms forward, straightening the right one a little and keeping the left one bent at the elbow. "Use this arm as support." he said, patting it. "Keep...the gun level. Fix your eyes...directly on the target. Don't look away. Don't look...at his eyes, Amita. Keep focused on the target - his chest. Don't look...away." His voice drifted off and he settled back against the wall, exhausted.

She waited, silently, shivering, while he gathered strength. A few seconds later he continued. "There will be a recoil when you pull the trigger." He put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her upper body gently. "Lean forward a little, into the gun. It will help...distribute it evenly. Important,...keep the gun aligned with your arm. The force of the...recoil will travel through your entire arm, not...just the wrist. If that happens, you could drop the gun."

He stopped talking and drew several deep breaths. He reached forward slowly and took the gun from her hand and laid it on the floor between them.

Amita looked at her empty hands and wondered briefly if she would ever be able to stop shaking.

He shifted his back against the wall, trying to ease the stiffness but, the effort brought a soft moan to his lips. He turned to her again. "We have to...be ready. It's getting...dark early because...of the storm. Need a flashlight...some candles and duct tape or something." His voice was quieter, weaker and the words were slurred.

A quick search of the kitchen turned up the items he asked for, along with a box of matches. She sat on the floor beside him and placed the flashlight in his lap. He picked it up, but it slipped from his hands and she took it again. He managed to slide the gun towards her.

"Tape...the flashlight...on top." She ripped a strip of tape from the roll and secured the small flashlight on the top of the weapon. With it held in place by the tape she held the gun up and wrapped the gray adhesive around the barrel of the gun several times, firmly fastening the flashlight in place.

"Good...good." He nodded. "We'll hear...him at the door. When he...comes in...it'll be dark in here. Point...the gun...his direction, blind him with the light."

She swallowed hard at the image and Don allowed her a minute to adjust. He pushed the roll of duct tape towards her. "Take the tape." She picked it up and he waved his hand weakly towards the door. She stood up and walked to the cabin entrance. "Mark . . ." She nodded, quickly, understanding and trying to save him the effort of finishing. She ripped a section of tape from the roll and held it up in front of the wall beside the door, just below her eye level - what she perceived as chest high for the man - and turned back to Don for confirmation. At his nod, she pressed it to the wall, then tore another strip and crossed the first one at an angle, making an X.

"He has...to come in the...front door. He'll have...to jimmy the lock or break in. Gives us ti . . ." Don's eyes widened, suddenly, and he gasped. "The key! Amita, he...has the key. That's why the door wasn't locked."

She came back, quickly and settled on the floor beside him. "Don?" she asked, worried.

"It's alright," he said, quietly, soothing. "It's alright. It...doesn't matter. We'll still hear him." His voice was no more than a whisper now and he was fighting for every breath. When he spoke again she noticed the tone of urgency in his voice, as though he was worried he would not have the time or breath to say what he wanted to say.

"Hold the gun...steady and level. Aim to the left...of the X - towards the door opening...as he is opening the door. Try for a torso...shot. Less room for...error."

Her eyes widened as she realized Don meant for her to shoot the man the instant he came inside. "Don, I can't just shoot him as he walks in! That's too . . . cold . . . too deliberate and pre-meditated."

Don sighed. His eyes, when he looked at her, were patient, as though he were talking to a child, but the tone of his voice was firm and hard and direct. "Amita, he'll kill us both. Me right away. Probably one shot...to the head. You, he'll take his time with. He'll...keep you alive- and have his fun- until David and Colby come back with the vehicle. Then he'll kill them...and finally, when he's done with you, he'll put a bullet in your head." He paused, studying her, seeing the devastation on her face, and felt a new low level of culpability as he continued. "You can't give him that chance. Don't think about it, Amita. If you do, you give him...the edge. If you...hesitate, even for a second, and think...about what you are doing...he'll kill us all. Do you understand what...I'm saying, honey? You have to do this...to save yourself."

She felt her stomach turn and for a moment she thought she would be sick, but Don suddenly started trembling beneath the blankets and she turned to him. She touched his arm, gently, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile but he knew his strength was limited and there was something he wanted to say. He tried to wet his lips again but found he had nothing left to moisten them with. His words slurred as he spoke. "I don't...know how long I . . . can stay awake. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, frightened tears once again filling her eyes. She took his hand again and her fingers played over the points of his knuckles. He managed a weak smile. "I gotta...tell you," he whispered. "Charlie would be...so proud of you."

At that, she sobbed and the tears fell freely. She clutched his hand to her breast, crying openly. "Please, Don. I don't think I . . . Please, don't leave me here alone. Stay with me." She was pleading, begging him to do the impossible, but she didn't care. "I know it's incredibly selfish, but I'm not brave like you. I can't do this without you."

He dredged up enough energy to squeeze her hand and answer. "Honey, all bravery is...is being afraid, but...going ahead anyhow. I know you're scared, but your also smart. You...understand the consequences. What...will happen if we don't...take him out. You can do it."

She sniffed. Her eyes were red and moist and her lower lip still trembled, but she stopped crying and looked at him**. **

"Com'ere." He raised his good arm and she slid silently into his embrace, sniffing again.

"I promise...I won't leave you." he whispered. "We'll get through this together." He knew it was a promise he may not be able to keep, and he knew she realized that, but it was still something she needed to hear.

He settled his head against the wall again and closed his eyes. "Just let me...rest a minute." He smiled, weakly. "I feel better. Really. If I can just sit here...and rest, I'll be able to get up soon and save...the world again. It'll be alright, sweetie."

Amita smiled through her tears. She knew what he was doing and she was suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and trust and . . . love. She rested her head lightly in the curve of his shoulder and neck, her hand splayed across his chest, feeling his heartbeat and she relaxed, allowing herself, for just one moment, to believe the lie.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Necessary Action**

**chapter seven**

Chip Mendosa peered through the layers of dirt and grime on the windows in the front of his small nondescript house. Between the dirt and the heavy downpour he could barely make out Sheriff Singleton's car as it drove up the graveled driveway. The dogs came out from under the porch, braving the storm to greet the visitors. Instantly they began to bark and bay - which meant Wally wasn't the only one in the car. He watched as the sheriff and two men got out of the vehicle and made their way to the house, walking unheeded through the rain and stepping cautiously around the dogs.

Grumbling, he opened the door and let them in, shooing the dogs back to the cover of the porch. Chip nodded his head towards Wally in greeting, then appraised the men with him. He glared at the two strangers as they stood dripping puddles onto his dirty wood floor.

Wally broke the silence. "Chip, this is Special Agents David Sinclair and Colby Granger of the FBI."

Chip turned away from the agents, looking at the sheriff with an incredulous expression, and when he spoke his voice was sharp and threatening. "You must be getting old Wally - bringing feds into my house."

"Well, thing is, Chip," Wally said, looking at the floor briefly, then back up to the man. "I consider them friends as well, and they need your help."

Chip snorted and walked away, across the small room to the table and sat down, deliberately not extending an invitation for them to sit as well. "You _are _getting old." he snarled. "Like I'm going to help anyone with the government."

David stepped forward, his manner abrupt and urgent."We've got an agent trapped in a cabin near the Sequoia Forest. He's been shot by an escaped murderer. We need to get to him as soon as possible."

Chip leaned back casually, tipping the chair backwards and balancing it on the two rear legs. "You're wasting time standing here yacking at me." He said, dryly.

Wally spoke up. "It'll take too long by car. One county chopper is down and Jake's in Fresno with the other. Park won't let their rescue ops fly in this weather." He knew Chip was angry with him but he pressed forward. "I told the boys here you sometimes fly that old helicopter of yours in these kind of situations. You're pretty much our only hope, Chip." When Mendosa remained quiet, Wally added. "Agent Eppes is going to need medical help right away. I know your chopper isn't equipped, but I called that new intern, Max. He's at the hospital. He said he'd go up with us if you can land on the roof and pick him up."

Chip stood up, moving over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee from an old, rusted metal pot - once again not offering hospitality to the other men. "Only a damn fool would fly in this weather," he muttered, blowing on the hot liquid.

"I've seen you fly in worse." Wally shot back and when Chip turned to him, he grinned, giving the sheriff an acknowledged _"you got me there"_ look.

David spoke again. "Look man, Don's not the only one trapped. There's also a young woman up there; Amita. She's just a teacher, a college professor, and she is probably scared out of her mind."

Colby saw a trace of weakening in Mendosa's eyes and moved in. Unfortunately, it was the wrong move. "I understand you have a beef with the government, but . . ."

"You don't understand shit!" Chip exploded. He turned towards Colby, his voice bitter and full of rage. "Let me tell you how it is, boy. You find yourself in that god forsaken desert on an unsanctioned mission. You know the kind – the ones you can't write home about. The intel from _your own_ _government_ is bad and you and your entire team end up in over your collectives asses. Do you think the U.S. government is there to haul you out? Hell no. You get out on your own, or you don't get out at all." He paused, looking at Colby like he was sizing him up. "My team. We were there five days – five days in hell - before we found a local willing to sneak us across the border to safety. We lost two good men, but we brought them home. We didn't leave them behind. So you'll excuse me if I don't feel like risking my chopper or my ass to save some thick necked federal agent. Understand?"

"Yeah, Rambo, we get it." Colby stepped up and spoke sharply. "You and the government don't exchange Christmas cards. That has nothing to do with Don."

Chip snarled. "It does if he has one of those pretty little badges that says he works for them."

"I have one of those, Chip." Wally said, quietly. "I'd like to think you'd come after me if I needed help."

"S'different. You're a friend."

"Don Eppes is a friend of mine. And I would like to help him, but I need you and that chopper of yours to do it."

With the audacity only another military man would have, Colby spoke again. "There's something else. If things were reversed and it was you hurt and in danger up there and Don was the only one who could save you – we wouldn't be standing here yacking. He'd be half way there by now, whether by flying or driving or crawling on his hands and knees – but he would get there. Don is more than just our boss, a partner. I've seen him put his job, his future and his life on the line more than once. The thing is when the bullets start flying, it doesn't matter if your in some barren desert overseas or the streets of LA. War is war. And don't kid yourself, Mendosa, what Don and David and I go through everyday is war and, just like you, we don't leave anyone behind." His eyes narrowed and his voice hardened. "We'll do whatever we have to do to get to Don and Amita."

Wally stepped in at the thinly disguised threat of grand theft chopper. "Hold on there, Colby."

Chip held his hand up indicating he would handle it. He appraised the cocky young agent, a hint of a smile on his face. "You ever fly a rescue chopper, son?" he asked arrogantly.

Holding the man's gaze, Colby answered, "Landed one once, in Afghanistan, when the pilot took a round in the neck." His lip curled up on one side. "Going up can't be much different than coming down."

Mendosa chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head. "You got some big ones, I'll say that for you."

Chip put the cup of coffee down on the counter, turned the fire off under the pot on the stove and reached for his jacket. Turning to Wally, he sighed and said, "Get a'hold of Max. Tell him to be on the roof in five minutes." He began walking to the door, passing the two startled agents and said, "Let's go get your man."

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Evening settled in quietly and the thin streaks of light that, earlier had fought their way through the shutters into the small cabin had faded. The last of the storms had finally moved on, leaving the air moist and humid and silent in it's wake and despite the appearance of a full moon, a heavy darkness settled over the cabin like a blanket. Amita struck a match and lit two of the large round candles and placed them on the floor beside her and Don. She also lit and placed a small one on the shelf beside the door, as Don had directed, illuminating the intimidating gray X.

As time passed, the meager light in the cabin flickered and waned, creating spectral shadows that danced eerily across the wooden surfaces, leaving her unsettled and jumpy.

She looked at Don. He had long ago lost all trace of color and had grown very quiet. She didn't know how he was staying awake, but she knew he would do everything he could to keep his promise. Nearly ten minutes earlier, a weak cough had turned into a coughing spasm that left him gasping for air, shaking and too weak to remain upright against the wall. He slid, smooth and silently, towards the floor, unable to stop himself. She caught his shoulders and guided him gently to lie down, resting his head and shoulders in her lap.

She sat quietly, rubbing her fingers soothingly on his temples. She nearly cried when she saw him try to wet his lips, his tongue moving slowly over the cracked skin. She could see his tongue was just as dry and unable to provide any relief. His body's level of dehydration from the blood loss was worrying her. He swallowed, reflectively and open mouthed, closing his eyes with the effort. She thought again of the rolling bottle of water by the lake and looked around, desperately, for something, anything that would help him. But, she knew there wasn't anything there, nothing that could ease his discomfort, his pain ..... unless.

When he tried again, moaning softly at the failure, she decided. She couldn't do much about his thirst or his need to relieve his parched throat, but she could do something about his dry lips. She leaned into him, her eyes locked with his. She saw his confusion and gently laid one hand on the side of his face. She placed two fingers in her mouth. Swirling her tongue around them to completely saturate them both, she removed them quickly and placed them on his cracked lips. He jerked slightly in surprise at the contact, but as she ran her wet fingers over his lips, he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the moisture, the instant relief. Any apprehension she might have had dissipated quickly at the look of gratitude in his eyes. She repeated the process a few times until the cracks softened.

She picked the corners of the blankets up and peeled them back to check the bloody towels on his chest and arm. They had managed to stop the bleeding and it looked like both wounds had clotted completely. Even his coughing spell hadn't disrupted them. But, Amita could see a difference in him. His breathing was so slow and labored she was frightened. He was still, his body limp and unmoving. His torpid state alarmed her and she bit back a sob.

_Please. Please, David and Colby, you have to make it. You have to. _The alternative was unthinkable, they had to make it in time.

A small sound outside startled her. She knew Don had heard it too. He stiffened, barely perceptible but she felt the muscles tighten, and amazingly, his breathing slowed as he strained to hear something, anything that would tell him who or what it was.

Amita looked at him, allowing the hope to show in her eyes. "David and Colby?" She knew, instinctively not to make any sound, so her question was mouthed only and Don answered back just as quietly, with a small shake of his head.

She was suddenly filled with such dread and terror, her own breathing stopped. Another sound, just outside the door and she knew why she couldn't breath. Her heart had risen to her throat and was constricting the air flow. Panicked, she looked at Don. His eyes, sad and dark with apology and compassion, held hers for an intense moment and she knew; _this was it._

Don moved his hand slowly, feebly, practically one finger at a time, towards the gun lying on the floor between them. He tried to close his hand around the grip, but couldn't; couldn't make his fingers tighten around the handle. He shifted his body, trying to raise up on his elbows, and the effort took what little strength he had left. With a defeated, gurgling moan, his head fell back into her lap. She froze at the sight of the thin line of blood slowly running from his lips.

_Don't let your fear control you. _Slowly, with deliberate motion, she reached for the gun, taking it from his limp hand_._ Her slender fingers gripped the handle of the Glock and she took a deep, steadying breath._ Make sure all of your fingers are tight around the butt. _She wrapped her fingers around the handle, leaving the first finger along the trigger guard. _Don't touch the trigger until you are ready to shoot. _Before raising her left arm into position as support, her hand brushed across Don's cool forehead and into the line of dark hair. She shifted her legs slightly against the hard floor, the heavy weight of his head in her lap. With her thumb, she gently wiped the blood from his chin then lightly rested her hand on his cheek, caressing, trying to convey her assurance, her resolution, her acceptance to him. _Don't hesitate . . . you have to do this. _"It's alright, Don." she whispered, calmly, wishing she had something more profound to say. With one last look into his dark eyes, she leaned over him to blow the candles out.

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Even though it didn't have an actual heliport on the roof, the old Cedarville Memorial Hospital was built solid enough that it could support the weight of Mendosa's helicopter.

Max, the new intern doing his residency there, was ready when Chip brought the chopper down. He handed the medical supplies up to David, then grabbed Colby's offered hand and climbed in.

They flew out of the storms within minutes of leaving the hospital and both David and Colby sighed with relief.

David leaned forward, coming up behind Chip's ear. "How long?"

"Not long. ETA is 8 minutes or so"

David and Colby exchanged worried glances. A hell of a lot could happen in eight minutes.

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Time seemed to stand still, or at least warp into slow motion, as Amita watched the cabin door. Could she do this? Could she really kill a man?

For an instant she imagined herself snuggled in Charlie's arms, watching a horror movie at his house. She would be hiding her head in his chest as the camera would zoom in on the doorknob of the heroin's inherited haunted mansion. The knob would turn slowly, barely moving, and the suspense would build to a crescendo-like climax when the door would finally open and the heroin would scream as the monster leaped in and Charlie would laugh and hold her tighter.

A monster of the human variety waited beyond this door.

She held the gun up, trained on the entrance, to the left of the duct tape X. She didn't breath; was afraid to even move. The click of the key turning, allowing the bolt to slide free of the notch in the door frame jolted her and her eyes left the X, straining in the darkness to see the door knob. In the flickering light from the small candle by the door she saw the knob slowly begin to rotate to the left. As the door creaked open a few inches she took a breath and checked her aim._ Fix your eyes_ _directly on the target. Don't look away. _Suddenly, she could see his outline in the doorway, back lit by the light of the full moon._ Don't look at his eyes, Amita. _She couldn't help it. The fluttering candlelight gave his face an unearthly visage. His eyes were burning with pain and hatred and had taken on an almost rabid glow. The deep gash along his cheek from Don's bullet had bled into his beard and the color, as it dried, took on a rusty, dark appearance, giving him an even wilder and more crazed look.

His eyes, accustomed to the dark outside, had no trouble finding her on the floor, and when they met hers, she involuntarily gasped.

She saw it then, just as Don had said. The sight of her holding the gun and pointing it at him was obviously unexpected and he paused briefly, for just an instant. She reached up quickly and turned the flashlight on. With the gun trained on his chest the light didn't exactly blind him, but he growled in anger at her boldness. With her left arm acting as support again, she took a steadying breath and slid her finger off the trigger guard. She saw him react and bring his hand up, the candlelight reflecting the metal of his gun. She touched the trigger. Instinctively, she tensed her body against the expected recoil but there was only an ominous click as she squeezed the trigger and the weapon misfired – and then complete and horrifying silence.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Necessary Action**

**chapter eight**

If Amita hadn't been completely petrified with fear, she might have been able to appreciate the insane irony of the situation. Against every moral and humanistic fiber she had, she had been willing to point a gun at another human being; had been ready to shoot a bullet from that gun with the intent to kill or maim the man standing in the doorway. She couldn't believe that, after all of that, the gun itself, was not willing to cooperate. In that life long instant she knew it really didn't matter, because the man was moving forward, out of the doorway, with undisguised intent showing in his eyes.

She screamed, both in terror and frustration, and looked at the weapon as if it could tell her what was wrong.

He continued forward into the room, slowly, enjoying her terror. He stopped at a faint sound and his eyes were drawn away from her, to the man on the floor.

Incredibly, Don was trying to move, reaching for the gun in her hands.

The man laughed at the sight of the agent, obviously near death and still trying to be the hero.

Despite the bullet hole in his leg he moved quickly, closing the distance between them. His eyes were hard and cold as he leaned over, grinning maliciously as he placed his weapon to Don's head, pressing the end of the muddy barrel into the center of his forehead. His feral eyes locked with Don's and they narrowed. Don raised his head slightly, holding it steady against the barrel of the gun and returned the stare, his eyes cold as steel and unrelenting.

The man expected the defiant look in the agent's eyes. Feds like him were too stupid to know when they were beaten. It was the contempt in the dark eyes that unsettled him, made him swallow hard and look away first.

With an angry growl he stood up and grabbed Amita's arm, yanking her to her feet. He took pleasure in the fact the the agent's head slid off her lap and struck the floor, eliciting a quiet groan.

He spoke and his voice, cold and menacing sent chills up Amita's spine. "You really are one stupid bitch." He shook her, hard, just once, to emphasize the fact that he was in control. "Drop it, sweetie." She winced at the sound of his voice, using the same endearing nickname Don had used a short time ago. She was terrified and it took her a second to realize he meant for her to drop the gun. Tired of waiting, her shook her again, his fingers tightening around her arm and the weapon fell from her hands onto the floor. He kicked it aside.

With the two of them completely at his mercy, he smiled.

He pulled her close to him, his face next to hers, his hot, rancid breath causing her to gag. Pointing the gun at Don, he rasped in her ear, "I could kill him right now - put him out of his misery, like a damn animal. What do you think, honey?"

She shivered with dread at the thought of him shooting Don as he lay helpless on the floor.

"Maybe it'd be better for you if he wasn't alive to see how much your going to enjoy what I'm going to do to you. Would you like that?" He pulled her around in front of him so they were face to face**. **"Or maybe you'd like it if he watched." He laughed when she jerked hard against his hold, trying to free herself. "No," he decided, "you're not the kinky type, are you?" He brought the gun into her view, holding it in front of her face and sneered, "Or are you?" He laid the barrel of the gun on her cheek, rolling it slowly around under her eye and laughed as she tried to pull away, straining again against his hold. He moved it down off her jawline and skimmed it across her neck, then down to rest between her breasts, the barrel causing the material of her blouse to buckle.

Somehow, she knew he wanted to see her fear – that he enjoyed inflicting mental pain as well as physical and she tried not to show how terrified she was, but she couldn't help the whimper as he trailed the barrel of the gun down her throat to rest at her cleavage.

"Leave her alone."

Don's voice, surprisingly strong, startled them both. Amita tried to break free and go to him, but the man laughed and squeezed her arm a little harder. "Or what, Fed?" he taunted. "What are you going to do if I don't?"

"You don't have to...hurt her. Let her go."

The man smiled, his eyes narrowing and fixed on Don. He turned, leaned into her and licked a stripe upward along her neck to her earlobe.

She shuddered with disgust and fought back the nausea.

"This won't stop here - with us." Don warned. "They'll...track you down."

The man shook his head. "I'm not going back to prison." he said with conviction, confirming Don"s guess.

"Pelican?" Don asked.

The man nodded and Don managed to smile. "If you do this, you'll wish...you were back there. If you kill three federal agents and...an innocent woman, it'll be San Quentin for you. They'll reserve a special place on Death Row in your name." Don tried to hide the shaky breath he took. "You won't walk away from this."

"Not going to walk." he quipped. "I plan on driving that shiny black SUV of yours." He turned again to Amita, drawing her closer and nuzzling his bearded face against her neck. "After me and this lovely lady have some fun, that is."

She made a sound of complete distress as she struggled against him.

Don was fading fast, but he knew he had to keep talking. It was standard operating procedure - keep the perp distracted from his intended purpose as long as possible. It was also a good delaying tactic. Don had learned long ago it's never over till it's over. Every second he gave David and Colby to get there was a bonus and he intended to squeeze as much time for them as possible.

"Even when they find you...and sentence you to death, you could die...of natural causes before they execute you. Takes years...for appeals. You could rot in there, waiting. Or you could go crazy...from solitary. That's called Death Row Phenomenon. It...happens a lot."

"You better shut up while you can." the man snarled, some of his arrogance slipping away.

"Four cold blooded...murders will get you the needle. Lethal injection. It's...a sequence of three drugs. But the first one...is the only one you'll feel. Once it's in your veins you're...unconscious in 30 seconds."

"Shut up!" The man was breathing hard and he pointed the gun at Don.

"The second one," Don continued, ignoring the sight of the barrel aimed at this head, "a muscle relaxant – paralyzes...the respiratory muscles. Causes...asphyxiation."

Amita watched Don struggle painfully to talk, pushing himself past his limits. It was obvious his words were upsetting the gunman and she wondered why Don was deliberately baiting him.

Suddenly, she could hear Don's voice in her head. _He won't be thinking clearly_. _He'll make mistakes. Use it. _He was trying to rattle their assailant, hoping he would lose his composure and ability to make rational decisions.

"Then they give...you the potassium chloride and...your heart stops."

"I told you to shut up!"

She could feel the man's body shake with anger and when she felt him shift his weight to his left leg she realized with horror that he meant to kick Don in the head. With as much force as she could manage, she threw her shoulder into him, knocking him off his feet. He side-stepped a little, dragging her with him as he struggled to recover his balance. She locked her legs and pulled hard against him in the opposite direction. His arm flew high into the air, trying to counterbalance the force of her pull, the gun pointing harmlessly at the ceiling.

She turned to face him then and with a high guttural scream she began to fight, all of her emotions escaping in one hysterical rush. Swinging her free arm at him she delivered blow after blow to his face, raking her nails deeply across his skin. He brought his arm down, still holding the gun, trying to block her attack, but she had lost all sense of restraint and continued her assault on his face. When her nails sliced across his eye he yelled in outrage, and shoved her away. Immediately, she ran for the gun he had kicked away earlier, but just as she reached out to pick it up, she felt a searing pain in her head as he grabbed her hair and yanked her backwards. He pulled her up and back to him again with such force she almost lost her footing. As she flew backwards towards him, she bent her arm and using the momentum, she drove her elbow hard into his throat.

Instantly, he let go of her, grabbing his throat and gagging. She dove for the gun again. She was shocked to see that somehow Don had managed to reach the weapon on the floor. With a low, weak groan, he handed it to her. She wrapped her hand around the handle, her fingers brushing over Don's as he released it, their eyes connecting briefly before his head dropped slowly to the floor. She turned and aimed the weapon at the gasping man, praying that the gun wouldn't misfire again.

He was still choking and looked up, disbelieving, at the sight of the woman standing in front of him with the gun leveled towards him. A savage, feral growl escaped his damaged trachea and he quickly raised his own weapon at her.

Without thought, without hesitation, without even a breath, Amita's finger slid off the guard and she squeezed the trigger.

This time the gun worked as it was designed to. Even though she thought she was prepared for it, the explosive sound deafened her and the recoil vibrated through her wrist, elbow and shoulder. Trembling, she lowered the gun, shaking the tingles out of her arm. She watched him stagger backwards, his face a mixture of pain, anger and disbelief. She saw the bullet hole in his lower arm begin to bleed and she saw the fury literally explode in his eyes. With uncontrolled, livid, enraged anger, he brought his weapon around again.

In a macabre, surreal dance they both leveled their weapons on each other, their fingers foregoing the trigger guard, both ready to shoot instantly.

She was calm. She had the target in focus, her eyes literally boring into his upper chest, and she knew with certainty she would not miss this time.

The sound of the discharge in her ears was as deafening as before, but different. It resonated through the heavy night air and she imagined the noise reverberating through the pines. She started, realizing suddenly there had been no recoil - that she was still pointing the gun at the man, but that her finger had not moved and was still resting lightly against the trigger. Puzzled, she watch him flail wildly, the gun falling to the floor, his arms reaching into the air as he fell forward, face first,onto the floor in front of her. She gazed, stunned, at the large hole in the center of his back and the red stain spreading around it. How...? Who...? Suddenly, something blocked the moonlight from the open doorway, and she looked up. Another man – she couldn't quite make out his features in the dark – stood at the entrance, his hand clutching a gun. She could tell it wasn't David or Colby and instinctively, she brought the Glock up again. He raised his hands, both the empty one and the one holding the gun, into the air. "Whoa, hold on there, darlin', you don't want to do that."

Wary, despite the calming tone of his low rough voice, and the fact that he had just rescued them, she moved towards Don, sliding in between him and the stranger, still holding the gun in front of her.

As she moved away from the body on the floor, the man stepped in and kicked the gun out of reach. He watched the obviously distraught woman make a show of protecting her injured companion, and offered her a grim, admiring smile – until his eyes fell on Don and his face hardened. Forgetting diplomacy and caution, he moved quickly toward them, ignoring the gun she still held. He did, however, offer information in a clipped, hurried voice. "FBI, ma'am. Fugitive Recovery. Name's Cooper."

She knew the name; Don's ex partner. That made sense, she thought. Sending Fugitive Recovery after an escaped convict would be the first thing the authorities would do.

Cooper knelt beside Don. He cursed silently at the sight of his former partner's ashen appearance. Gently, he looked at the bullet wounds, sighing in relief when he didn't see any fresh blood. Placing his finger on Don's neck he checked his pulse and was surprised to see that in spite of it being low, it's beat was even and steady. He took note of the towels Amita had used to stanch the blood flow and the blankets she had used to keep him warm. His observant eye caught the small candle by the door with the X illuminated in it's light and the Glock, still in her hands, with the flashlight taped to the barrel.

Either she was one resourceful woman or Don had been able to coach her, to prepare her for the worse. He suspected both were true.

He turned away from Don and said to her, "I didn't see a car. How did you two get here?"

Her voice was shaky but she answered right away. "David and . . . um, Agents Sinclair and Granger dropped us off. We called them. They're on their way back."

He nodded, understanding, then looked at her closely. "Are you alright?" She nodded, but before she could say anything, Don moaned and turned his head slightly.

"Hey, partner." Cooper's voice was low and rough with emotion.

At the sound of Billy's voice, Don roused, his eyes opening to mere slits. He smiled, small and relieved.

"Coop." It was no more than a whisper.

Cooper placed his hand gently on Don's arm. He leaned in a little closer. "What're you doing Eppes, trying to take my collar?" His words, although reproachful were tinted with concern and affectionate humor. "I've been after this runner for four days now. I figure I got dibs."

Don's eyes opened a little more at Billy's teasing tone and he couldn't resist a weak comeback. "First come...you know."

It was Billy's turn to smile in relief. If Don could participate in a little banter maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed.

"Come to think of it, partner," Billy continued, "from I stood it looked more like her collar."

Years of working closely together gave Billy a certain insight to Don Eppes and he knew instantly what Don was thinking when his eyes darkened and sought out the woman beside him. It didn't take a genius to see that the woman saw it, too. He rushed to answer Don's unspoken question at the same time she leaned into Don's sight, shaking her head. "Hey, Donnie boy, don't you worry. I put him down. Not going to let some little missy take my due."

Cooper tensed suddenly at a sound from outside and he turned with lightning speed, his gun raised in front of him. He was shocked to see Amita had turned with him, the gun in her hand leveled beside his.

David Sinclair and Colby Granger burst through the doorway, followed by Sheriff Singleton.

"FBI!"

Cooper lowered his weapon quickly and pressed his other hand on her arm, angling the barrel of the gun she held towards the floor. "Whoa, stand down." he said, quickly. "Stand down, Sinclair. We've got it."

The three men holstered their weapons and moved into the room quickly. Wally and David went straight to Don. Colby stepped around Cooper , looked briefly at the body on the floor and reached for Amita's arm, but stopped at the sight of her. "Shit," he muttered. Her face was still spotted with Don's blood and he winced at the sight of the bruises on her arm and face. He looked at her eyes and was relieved to see she was alert, not vacant or spacey. He hesitated an instant longer, then reached his hand out to her and her lower lip began to tremble and she stepped into his embrace. "I'm okay. I'm okay." she murmured into his chest.

Wally had ushered Max inside and he set about examining Don. Within minutes he had an IV of fluids started and he held the IV bag aloft as the other four men quickly carried Don out to the waiting chopper. After securing him, and helping Amita strap in, Colby climbed in and motioned to Chip to take off. David stayed behind at the cabin with Wally and Cooper, starting the job of processing the crime scene.

Fresno or Bakersfield were closer, but, Max quickly determined that because the bleeding had stopped completely and his vitals were actually fairly stable, the severity of Don's wounds warranted the additional 13 minutes it would take to go to UCLA Trauma Center in Los Angeles. Colby was glad to hear that. Besides the fact that UCLA was one of the country's best trauma centers, it would put Don closer to home and make it easier on Alan and Charlie.

He placed a quick call to Charlie, giving him as much information as he felt the mathematician could handle over the phone. The professor told him Alan was out of town – that he would contact their father, then meet them at the hospital.

Colby settled back, watching Max monitor Don's vitals. Amita sat next to him and when Colby felt the slight tremors in her shoulders, he reached for a blanket and wrapped it around her. She smiled at him, clutching the blankets under her chin with her fingers and leaned, once again, into his offered support.

A few minutes later, Chip landed on the heliport at UCLA. A team of emergency personnel hurried to the chopper. Working quickly and efficiently, they removed Don and strapped him on a gurney, Max taking his spot beside it, holding the IV bag and reporting Don's vital signs. Colby helped Amita out of the chopper and as Don was rushed towards the hospital entrance Colby turned and looked at Chip. "Thanks, man."

The pilot grinned, feeling better than he had in a long time, and gave Colby a small salute.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I am so sorry about yesterday's chapter eight disaster. I accidentally uploaded a working draft of chapter eight – so if you read it, and there were a lot of empty spaces and X's, and it didn't make sense – that was it. I noticed it right away and tried to delete it and replace it with the good one, but by that time 30 or 40 people had read it. You will also notice that the first section of chapter nine was included in that working draft of eight. If it sounds familiar that is why. If you were one of those early readers, please check it out again. Trust me, it will make more sense.**

**This is the last chapter of Necessary Action. I sincerely appreciate the amount of people who read it and especially those who reviewed. Feedback on any story is great – on a multi chaptered story it's the only way to gauge the reader's response to the direction the story is going. **

**So, thanks again and on with the show.**

**Necessary Action**

**chapter nine**

Charlie was waiting just inside the doors that connected the heliport to the hospital, his face white, his eyes wide and woeful. He had tried to meet the helicopter when it arrived, but hospital security had held him back. He had paced, anxiously, watching the activity at the chopper until he saw them approach the building. His eyes went to the figure on the gurney as it burst through the automatic doors. He froze at the sight of his brother, bloody and still, his skin translucent, his eyes closed and his features slack and unresponsive. He barely had time to adjust to the sight when he heard Amita's sharp intake of breath. "Charlie!"

At the sight of her, Charlie cried out and stepped forward. The gurney, propelled by the well trained hospital staff, rushed on and he felt inextricably torn between her and Don. He hesitated an instant. She didn't. Maintaining her hold on the metal bar at the foot of the mobile cot, as well as the pace set by the emergency workers, she reached for Charlie's hand, covering it with her own over the cold metal, effectively fusing him into the drama. They moved together, through the sterile hallways with Colby a step behind them.

The three of them ran along with the gurney until they were stopped by a grim faced intern at a set of double doors. They watched as Don and the medical team disappeared through them.

As the doors closed, an eerie silence descended on them, and their harsh, labored breathing seemed to echo in the hallways. They stood as if they were lost, unsure what to do next, when a nurse suddenly appeared beside them.

"Come with me dear," she said to Amita. "We have a room set up for you."

Charlie glanced at Colby and the agent said quickly, "Go ahead, Charlie, go with her. I'll find out what's going on with Don and let you know."

Charlie still hesitated and Colby reached forward, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "He'll be okay, Charlie." His voice was low and reassuring. "She kept him alive."

The nurse ushered them to a small examination room, motioning for Amita to sit on the small bed. She took Amita's blood pressure and pulse, writing them on a piece of paper and sliding it into the pocket of the colorful Disney character smock she wore. Smiling, she told them the doctor would be in soon and pulled the curtain closed.

Charlie hovered close to Amita, rubbing her shoulder, touching her hand, tucking a bit of stray hair behind her ear and tried not to look at her discolored and swollen face or the bruises on her upper arms where Lovett had grabbed her. He was filled with anger and rage and fear; feelings so foreign and opposite to his normal disposition that he was struggling to assimilate them. Even as he rubbed soothingly on Amia's back, his eyes clouded with the image of his brother's appearance and he swallowed again, trying to hold back the horror.

"Charlie."

He heard the uncertainty in Amita's voice and turned to her quickly. "You okay? Do you need something? I could find the nurse."

She shook her head, smiling at his over eagerness. "No. I'm fine. Well, . . ." she laughed, curtly, at the ridiculous statement, then looked at him, her dark eyes suddenly becoming moist and sad. "Charlie, before the doctor comes in, there's something I want to tell you."

Her sudden apprehension sent another bolt of fear through him and he took both of her hands in his. "Oh God," he gasped. "you weren't . . . he didn't r. . ."

She shook her head, quickly, reassuring him. "No, I'm alright." she told him again, then blurted out, "I shot a man."

Stunned, he tightened his hold on her hands. "You . . . you killed him? The man who . . . did this?"

Shaking her head she replied, "No. Agent Cooper killed him - after I shot him. But, I meant to kill him. I would have." Her voice, when she spoke, was firm and matter of fact, but, suddenly her dark eyes misted and she looked at him, unsure and afraid. "Are you disappointed in me?"

Of all the emotions Charlie was experiencing at that moment, disappointment was certainly not one of them. He looked at her eyes; the usual spark and energy he loved was clouded over with the reality of their ordeal and he understood. The physical wounds, even Don's, were superficial compared to the mental anguish, the desperation and fear they had endured at Lovett's hands. He knew, with certainty, that those were the wounds that needed healing and that it wouldn't be easy.

"Are you okay?" He shook his head, quickly and dismissively, indicating that wasn't what he meant and she understood. She knew he wasn't asking if she was hurt. He tried again. "I mean, mentally – emotionally, with what you did or almost did."

She nodded, her expression sure and strong again. "He would have killed us all. Don knew it. He had some trouble convincing me that we had no other options, but he finally got through. He told me how to defend myself, how to use his gun and what to expect the man to do."

Overcome with emotion, Charlie stepped forward. His hands trembled as he gently framed her face in them and the expression in his dark eyes conveyed the immense love and pride he had for her. "Then I thank God you had the fortitude to listen to him."

Charlie turned his head towards the door, a deep pensive expression she recognized clouding his features.

"What is it, Charlie?"

He moved, sitting beside her on the bed. "I was just thinking about what Colby said; that you kept Don alive." He turned to her. "Sounds to me," his voice was thick with emotion, "that you kept each other alive."

She leaned into him and touched his forehead with hers. He brought a hand up to cup the back of her head and his fingers gently moved through her hair. He drew her close, kissing her, then wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly against him. She relaxed in his embrace, her head resting between his neck and shoulder, and when the doctor arrived Charlie had to wake her.

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Don woke several times in the next two days, floating into awareness as a nurse adjusted his IV, or the doctor checked the drainage on his chest wound, or to the comfort of the hushed somber voices of his father and Charlie beside him. Each time he tried to claw his way out of the drugged stupor and each time he quickly succumbed again to a soft hand on his brow and soothing voices or his weakened body's need for rest.

Fifty some hours after he arrived at the hospital his eyelids fluttered open, closed again briefly, then opened once more and his senses returned in a rush. It was dark, but there was a small muted light above and behind his head, subtly illuminating the white sheet that covered his body. A glance at the window told him it was nighttime. A quiet beep kept time with his heartbeat and he felt the pressure on the back of his hand that told him he was connected to an IV. The hushed sounds and disinfectant odors beyond the door completed the picture and he knew he was in a hospital.

He noticed another scent – a very familiar one – and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and savoring it. How many times had his allowance purchased that after shave for Christmas or Father's Day or as a birthday gift?

"Dad." he smiled.

"Hush, Donnie. It's alright."

Don turned towards the voice and saw Alan in the shadows, sitting in a chair next to the bed. His father looked haggard and tired but he smiled back - warm, gentle and affectionate and brushed his fingers over Don's forehead. "You just rest, son."

Alan moved then, and an instant later Don found a spoonful of ice in front of him and he opened his mouth, gratefully.

Don could feel the pull of sleep again already, but there was something he needed that was more urgent. "Dad, how's Amita? Is she alright?"

Alan nodded, expecting this question from his son. "Yeah, Donnie, she's fine. She's bruised." Alan shook his head sadly, "Her face and arms . . ." He sighed, remembering the sight of her beautiful face, multi-colored and swollen. "but she's going to be fine."

Don shook his head, his voice taking on an imploring tone. "No, Dad. How is she? Really."

Alan took a deep breath and settled back in the chair. He knew what Don meant. Wearily, he answered, "She seems to be doing alright. David arranged for her to speak with a doctor at the bureau. Charlie took her this afternoon. She said it helped to talk about it." Alan reached forward and touched his son's uninjured arm. "We always knew she was a strong woman, Donnie." He gently squeezed the arm under the blanket. "But, she's stronger than any of us thought."

Don knew, logically, that it had happened days ago, but to him, it seemed like only hours. He could still see her hysterics at the lake and feel her trembling hands as she pressed down on the wound in his chest. He remembered her tender care and the way she analyzed their situation. He also recalled her refusal, then reluctant acceptance in using the gun and her quick thinking when Lovett turned irrational. Yes, it was clear she was definitely stronger than any of them had thought and Don was certain she had learned something about herself, as well.

His eyelids were drooping and he knew he wouldn't be able to fight the drugs much longer. He looked at Alan and smiled. "Knew she could do it . . . stubborn, . . . like Charlie said." His face muscles relaxed as he lost the battle to stay awake, but just before he went completely under, his tongue slipped out between his lips to wet them and a soft smile heralded him to sleep.

When the darkness lifted again several hours later and Don slowly blinked the room into focus, he saw Charlie and Amita sitting together across the room, their heads together over something on the screen of a laptop, talking in muted tones. He smiled, seeing them like that – as he had hundreds of time before. It felt good; it felt normal; it felt right.

"Hey." he murmured.

They looked up quickly and Charlie closed the laptop. Together, they hurried to his bedside. Charlie pulled a chair over and motioned for her to sit. "Hey, Don. How are you feeling?" he asked.

Don smiled, looking at both of them and said, "Good. Alright. Drugs are good."

They laughed. "You two alright?" he asked.

Both heads nodded as one and he stifled a laugh he was sure would hurt somewhere. He looked around the room. "Where's Dad?"

"Alan just left. Went to get some coffee." Amita answered. She glanced at Charlie and Don saw the question asked and answered between them, in that way they had of communicating without words. She moved closer to him and Charlie stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder in an obvious show of support. Don was intrigued and worried at the same time.

"Don," she began. "Colby and David took my statement the other day."

He nodded slowly, knowing Amita had just asked Charlie if this was a good time to bring it up - with Alan gone – and Charlie had agreed.

"I told them how we utilized ACT." she said in a soft voice.

"Yeah?" he asked, quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his bed.

She nodded. "Yeah, and it's funny, Don, they had never heard of it."

Don studied a snag on the hem of his sheet, fingering it, rubbing it between his first finger and thumb. "Amita . . ." he started.

"It's alright, Don, I understand." She placed her hand over his. "I was. . ." she stopped, searching for the right word. ". . .looney. I wasn't helping the situation. You had to do something."

Shaking his head, he said, "That's not it at all. You were great. You just needed something to focus on."

"You mean besides you bleeding to death in front of me?" She reached up, covering Charlie's hand with hers when his fingers clenched at her words.

Don dropped his head, studying the snag again. "Yeah."

She nodded, a half smile crossing her features. "So you made it up." she clarified.

He looked back at her, judging her reaction to the lie. She was smiling. Behind her Charlie was grinning, his eyes wide and excited.

Don frowned. They were up to something. Charlie came around and sat on the bottom of Don's bed.

"It worked, didn't it? I mean, it helped Amita quantify the variables and different data points. There's a whole range of scenarios where it could come into play. It's like Game Theory, but more defined and case orientated."

Amita joined in. "Charlie and I were just putting together a possible presentation. We think you should present it to Quantico. They can implement it into their current training with very little modification. I can even give first hand testimonial for it."

Don laughed. He was right. It hurt, but the pain had never felt so good.

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Six days later -

Charlie stepped from the hospital's elevator and turned to the right. After eight days of moving through these halls towards his brother's room he knew the way by heart – knew most of the nurses on the floor, as well, and offered greetings to some as he passed. Don was being released tomorrow and he knew his brother would be happy to finally get home and put all of this behind him.

He had had a luncheon meeting scheduled at CalSci that was canceled at the last minute. With the afternoon free, he thought he would pick Amita up and they could have lunch before going to the hospital to see Don. He hadn't been able to reach her on her cell phone so he decided to skip lunch and visit his brother. He reached the room and pushed the door open.

Don was sitting up in bed. He was wearing the pajama bottoms Alan had bought for him. They, along with a loose fitting t-shirt, provided a level of security and humility the open backed hospital gowns lacked. The bed was still in the prone position and he was sitting at the top, where the pillow usually laid. The pillow was propped against the wall, as a cushioned barrier between him and the hard painted surface, but he wasn't leaning against it. He was sitting away from the wall, on his own, and Charlie was delighted to see that his brother's strength was returning. What he saw next, though, made him stop in the doorway. Amita was sitting, cross legged, on the bottom of Don's bed, facing him. Between them, on a colorful cloth that had been draped across the mattress, was what Charlie could only describe as the remains of a picnic.

"Hey." he announced himself. They turned as one, smiling at him. "Hey, Charlie. Come on in. Join us" Don waved his hand towards the food on the bed in front of him. "Amita brought lunch."

She scooted off the bed and greeted Charlie with a kiss. "I thought you had a meeting. I would have waited . . ."

Charlie, delighted to see her, waved away her explanation - which wasn't necessary and was beginning to sound like an apology, which _really_ wasn't necessary – and walked to the bed, helping himself to an apple. "Canceled. I looked for you but . . . What's all this?" he asked.

"Since Don was finally on an unrestricted diet I thought he might enjoy something different than hospital food. And since our last picnic ended kind of badly, I thought. . . you don't mind, do you?"

"Don't be silly. I'm sure Don loved it and if he's happy, we're all happy. We don't have to listen to him grumble about the hospital food."

Don opened his mouth to protest the brotherly slam when the door opened again and Alan and Larry walked in. They had just had lunch together, but Don laughed with the others when Alan couldn't resist, "just half a piece of that cake. It looks delicious."

The room suddenly became a little more crowded when David and Colby arrived. There wasn't much of the picnic left, but Colby found the other half of Alan's piece of cake and finished it with two bites, licking the icing off his fingers.

Amita and Charlie cleaned the mess up and Don allowed Alan to settle him back into the bed. He wouldn't admit it, but he was looking forward to a little afternoon nap. Right now, though, he was looking at his two team members.

"Did you bring it?" he asked.

David nodded, smiling conspiratorially, and produced a colorful paper bag from behind his back. At a nod from his team leader, he handed it to Amita.

"What's this?" she asked. She peeked in the sack, smiling and curious as Don answered, "Just a little something from me and the guys." Her eyes were dancing, lively and he enjoyed her excitement at the unexpected present.

She put the sack on the bed where she had been sitting and reached in, pushing aside the tissue paper. "Oh!" She looked up at him, her eyes wide and excited. "Oh, Don! Wow, this is great!"

Charlie stepped around and watched as she removed an official FBI jacket and cap from the sack. She held the jacket up, admiring the three large yellow letters on the back. Laughing, she slipped into it, wrapping it around her, then placed the cap on her head.

Charlie's eyes darted from her to his brother and he couldn't quite stop the whine in his voice as he said, "Hey, I don't have that. I mean, I took the training course and everything, and I...I don't have an FBI jacket." The petulant, childish tone of his voice brought a round of laughter, and he turned to Don sounding all of five years old. "Can I have one, too?"

Everyone was watching Amita as she danced around the room and Charlie found himself forgetting what he was saying.

He had to admit she looked awfully cute, in a dangerous sort of way, wearing the jacket and cap. She was laughing at something Colby said when Charlie and Don glanced at each other. Charlie was reminded again how close he had come to losing her, to losing both of them; two of the most important people in his life. His eyes found Don's. _Thank you – for helping her, for being strong, for being you._

Don could always tell what his brother was thinking. His expressive dark eyes were dead give aways – always had been. He understood and smiled, giving Charlie his best big brother look._ It's alright, Charlie. Everything's going to be alright. _

"I know how you can get one, Charlie." She said, breaking their thoughts.

Charlie turned back to her, not exactly sure what she was talking about. Seeing her standing before him in the FBI jacket jarred his memory and he asked, "How?"

Don watched the light in her eyes as she teased his brother. She preened, turning around to display the FBI on the back of the jacket, looking over her shoulder at him, demurely batting her eyelashes under the rim of the cap. She changed poses, her eyes on Charlie as she turned sideways, her chin resting on her raised shoulder, her luxurious dark hair pulled to one side, her eyes smoldering with heat and desire. Don laughed with the others in the room at Charlie's discomfort. It was obvious her display was affecting him and he smiled sheepishly.

"We can share this one," she said in a husky, tantalizing voice. "What's mine is yours. After all, California is still a community property state."

The laughter in the room escalated to a level Don was sure was going to bring the nurses in to complain. Charlie dropped his head, embarrassed but laughing with the others. He smiled and wrapped his arm around Amita's shoulder and kissed her.

They belong together, Don thought to himself, watching them. She grounds him. He inspires her.

He looked around the room, at his family and friends, and marveled at the many different aspects there was to Amita Ramanajan. To Charlie, she was his soul mate, his lover and friend; to Alan, she was the daughter he never had and Don could see the dark eyed, curly headed grandchildren in his father's eyes as he watched Charlie and Amita. As a colleague and teacher, she was brilliant, quick and always willing to help. Don knew David and Colby would certainly never look at Amita the same again and he, himself, felt a certain connection to her. It was common, he knew, when people shared a life threatening experience to become closer on a different level. There was an unbreakable bond between him and Amita now, fused through pain and terror and sacrifice. Whatever she has with Charlie and the others, this connection was theirs alone.

He looked up, watching Charlie try to zip the jacket that was obviously too small for him and laughed with the others again. He settled back in bed, happy, content and drifted off to sleep to the laughter of his family and friends.

**The End**


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